


Cockaigne

by HollyShadow88



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Art Shows, Bad BDSM Etiquette in the past, Bisexual John Watson, Blow Jobs, Blushing, Bondage, Butt Plugs, Case Fic, Coming In Pants, Corsetry, Cuddling & Snuggling, Deep Throating, Developing Relationship, Dildos, Enthusiastic Consent, Exhibitionism, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Gay Sherlock Holmes, Hair-pulling, Hand Jobs, High Heels, It's For a Case, Light BDSM, Light Dom/sub, Lipstick & Lip Gloss, Love Confessions, M/M, Military Kink, More Like Porn With A Side Of Plot, Mutual Pining, Nipple Clamps, Nipple Play, Not Canon Compliant, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Painplay, Performance Art, Pet Names, Porn With Plot, Praise Kink, Pre-Reichenbach, Safe Sane and Consensual, Shibari, Smut, So much blushing, Steampunk, taking care of each other, terms of endearment, the author has a thing for thighs and will not apologise for that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-02-19 14:29:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 38,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22779238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HollyShadow88/pseuds/HollyShadow88
Summary: Cockaigne (n) \kä; ‘kān\ : an imaginary land of great luxury and easeWhen John’s contacted by an old uni friend about problems in his new art exhibition, he doesn’t think it will be worth Sherlock’s time. After a glance of the crime scene, however, they’re both pulled into the project in ways John didn’t expect. Will a week of erotic performance art finally be enough to bring them together in the way they both secretly hope? (Spoiler: it’s a tropey fic, of course it will)
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 69
Kudos: 274





	1. The Case

**Author's Note:**

> Goooood evening friends and welcome to This Fic Is Me Experimenting With Writing Smut. Seriously, it's basically just sex. The case exists to put them into this situation and makes about as much sense as they do in the actual show. So if you're into John and Sherlock denying their feelings for each other while banging their brains out, then you're in the right place.
> 
> Shout out to Ashlee as always for the beta!

John trudged up the stairs to the flat, grateful to finally end an exhausting week with a tea with a splash of brandy, heavy on the brandy. He’d doubled his hours at the clinic, a pacifying move meant to make it up to Sarah for all of the times he’d had to run off in the middle of a shift after Sherlock. Sherlock huffed over John’s insistence that he had to do it, as usual, but surprisingly refrained from interrupting his days, at least until he came home and was more readily at his disposal. The good news was that he had the next few days off without a sign of a case from the blog, hopefully leaving him the chance to relax and catch up on the sleep he lost spending every free moment being bossed around by patients and Sherlock.

As he approached their door, John caught Sherlock’s low voice speaking from somewhere in the living room and mentally groaned. Hoping he had just been caught talking to the skull and not a potential client, he pushed his way inside and let out a bark of surprised laughter.

Sitting at the desk was a well dressed man with a flop of dark hair with a barely noticeable hint of salt and pepper coming in at his roots. His hands fidgeted over his crossed legs as he watched Sherlock pace across the rug, but the moment he spotted John, his face lit up in a bright grin. He sprang to his feet in the middle of Sherlock’s mumbling, causing him to jolt to a stop and narrow his eyes at the pair of them. His curious expression turned shocked as John met the man in the middle of the room and immediately pulled him into a hug.

“Niall Murphy!” John exclaimed, patting him on his back and giving his shoulder a squeeze. “Jesus, it’s been years! What are you doing in London?”

“I’ve been working on a new exhibit and thought London would appreciate it a bit more than Lisburn,” Niall replied, his Irish accent light. “It did decently well in Belfast when I first started it, but London’s a better audience. I’ve been here nearly a month working on it but haven’t had the chance to search you out until now.”

Clearing his throat softly, Sherlock stepped between them with a deep frown. “I take it you two know each other.”

“From uni, yeah,” John explained, ignoring Sherlock’s attempt to separate them and keeping his arm wrapped around Niall’s shoulders. “I needed an art credit, he was an art major, and we ended up becoming mates. Of course, it helped that he fancied me a bit.”

“I beg your pardon, John Watson,” Niall sputtered, his cheeks turning a dull pink. “I’d hardly call it fancying. Besides, after seeing those thighs in rugby shorts, nearly all of the campus wanted a piece of that.” John’s burst of embarrassed giggles covered up Sherlock’s splutter of indignation.

“Yeah, all right, enough. So what are you doing at Baker Street, then? Delivering a personal invitation to this exhibit of yours?”

“Actually,” Sherlock cut in sharply, spinning to flounce himself into his chair and steepling his hands, “he’s brought us a case. He was in the middle of explaining when you interrupted.”

John released Niall’s shoulders to face him properly, frowning in concern. “A case? Is something wrong with the exhibit?”

“Unfortunately yes,” Niall replied with a sigh. “We’ve got a rented spot over in Soho and it all seemed to be going well as we set things up. My partner Ian actually found the studio for a decent price and came down before me to get it all going, set up the space and advertise and all that. Once I finished up our Belfast run, I met him down here and helped finish readying it. The first couple of weeks running went really well, but then it just got a bit…odd.”

“What do you mean by odd?” John asked as he sat on the arm of his chair. “Were there problems with customers?”

“Not at all – in fact, everyone who’s come has been amazingly accommodating, even with the forms we’ve required them to fill out before they attend. We haven’t had a single incident during a performance, despite the occasional interruption back in Belfast.”

“What kind of exhibition are you holding that requires attendees to sign a form?” Sherlock asked. “I am under the impression that most art galleries simply ask those observing to refrain from touching the art and causing it harm.”

“Most do, yes, but I specialise in performance art. This project in particular involves audience participation, which means that for the protection of both my performers and the audience, it requires a strict code of conduct. Thankfully my staff has been amazing during the screening process and everyone has been careful and respectful.”

“Jesus, Niall, what sort of exhibit is this?” John asked with a chuckle. “Are you running an orgy or something?”

Smirking, Niall placed a hand on his hip. “Well, according to some less open minded people, yes.” At John and Sherlock’s matching looks of surprise, Niall laughed and continued. “It’s a concept I developed involving a post-apocalyptic attempt at utopia. I’ve cultivated a world in which sex and sexuality is an open and shared experience, where the audience is allowed to view the intimacy of a couple in passion as well as interact with them in a neutral, comfortable environment to create a bridge of understanding and acceptance. They all work together to create a cohesive story that leads to an act of sex, one of the most human acts we all take part in. It’s meant to be a celebration of life and the human body after the hypothetical threat of total destruction.”

“So…wait, you mean to say people are just having sex together in some giant studio space? That’s a bit much even for you, Niall.”

“No, no, not at all,” Niall reassured him. “Only two completely consenting adults are performing sexual acts, with a new couple rotating out each week. No members of the audience are allowed to engage in anything sexual during their time at the exhibit, with the couple or any other audience members. We provide various sorts of fancy dress, predominantly steampunk in nature, for the audience to use as they wish to decorate themselves for the couple’s chosen setting. They are then invited into the decorated space where the couple waits and everyone is allowed to mingle, developing the environment’s story together in whatever sort of role play they wish. At a designated time, the couple is led to the performance area to present whatever sexual act they have agreed upon prior while the audience observes. Once they are finished, they remove themselves exactly as they are back into the communal room for more interaction with the audience until the evening is over.”

“It sounds as though you are opening up the opportunity for all sorts of mischief,” Sherlock commented, tapping his lips. “How are you managing to keep control of the situation?”

“It’s all well regulated, I assure you. As I said, all audience members must complete a list of waivers and background checks before they are allowed admittance and no more than fifteen individuals are allowed into a nightly performance. I employ a fairly large staff that is highly trained to ensure that order is kept and everyone is safe, as well as an advanced security system that is under constant surveillance. After an unfortunate situation during our first week in Belfast, I made sure nothing untoward or unsafe would ever occur. Unfortunately, that hasn’t managed to completely stop the issues we’ve been having.”

“So if you’ve got all this security in place, then what’s the problem?” John asked.

Niall fidgeted, his eyes darting down to stare at the floor. “It started small – we’d be cleaning up at the end of the night, collecting clothes to wash before the next show, organizing the accessories, that sort of thing, when we’d notice a handful of items missing. It didn’t matter how careful we were to watch when customers were in the room, we inevitably lost at least three or four small items each night. We might have been fine if that was all, but then there were notes. Started with fairly innocuous comments, remarks about the actors that could be construed as a bit forward in the right light, but then they got…uncomfortable. Threatening. We’ve reached the point where some of our hired couples are too scared to finish out the week and quit partway through. The performance art scene is small enough that word travels fast, and add in the nature of what we’re doing and we’re having problems even getting people to apply to perform. The weird thing is, we’ve got people and cameras constantly going in every area where the problems are taking place but haven’t seen any sign of who’s doing it. I’m afraid that it’s an employee, but I’ve interviewed them all personally and can’t imagine any of them jeopardising it all like this. At this rate, we’ll be done within the next two weeks if it doesn’t stop.”

“We’ll have to go over the recordings and question the employees ourselves,” Sherlock muttered half to himself. Niall’s head shot up and he broke out into a relieved smile.

“You’ll take it on? I was afraid it wouldn’t be exciting enough for you. From John’s blog, I thought you’d only take on something if it was like off the police shows on the telly.”

“You’d be surprised what catches his attention,” John said dryly, though he shot Sherlock a raised brow. While John held a strong amount of concern than usual since the client was a friend, the case itself didn’t seem like one that would normally catch Sherlock’s attention. If he was willing to give it a chance, however, John wouldn’t comment on the unusual choice. “When does your exhibition take place?”

“Monday through Friday, with a new couple taking a full week’s shift. Madelyn and Siobhan agreed to complete their week at least, but I’m not sure if next week’s couple will be as willing to continue. I planned on going over to prepare for the evening’s performance after I left here, so you’re more than welcome to join me. There should be time for you to talk to everyone before the guests arrive.”

“Excellent,” Sherlock said, jumping to his feet and striding across the room to throw on his coat. “It appears you arrived home just in time, John; come along.” Without waiting for a response, he raced down the stairs and out the door.

Sighing, John rose to his feet. “Can’t even let me have a cuppa before swanning off.” Niall watched as he pulled on the jacket he’d barely taken off twenty minutes prior.

“I must admit, John, you’ve certainly found a handsome…flatmate,” he said with a lopsided grin. John caught the exaggerated pause in his statement and rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, well, that’s all it is. _Really._ ” Niall raised his eyebrows but didn’t respond. John shooed him out the door and followed close behind. “Don’t you look at me like that, Niall Murphy. He’s not interested, and contrary to popular belief, I am capable of having friends without making a move on them.”

“Oh, of course,” Niall replied as he strolled down the stairs, his tone disbelieving. “But frankly, how a man like _him_ could say no to someone who still has thighs like those…” Sherlock’s yell for them to hurry up interrupted whatever else he might have said. John attempted to shake off the blush that came from the conversation and hurried them from the flat to the cab waiting for them.

~~~

Niall’s rented studio sat between a cosy tea shop and an art gallery, unassuming fronts for the curiosities in between. The bottom floor held a small reception area and a few offices with a short staircase that led to the performance areas. They met Ian at the front desk going through the forms for that night’s guests. His face lit up at the sight of Sherlock, practically ignoring Niall’s introduction of him and John to gush to the detective and guide him through a brief survey of the office areas. He looked to be close to Niall and John’s ages, with short cropped mousey brown hair and the slightly stocky build of someone who worked out just enough to boast about it. While Sherlock explored the desks and drawers, John caught up properly with Niall, the two of them sharing stories of their lives after graduation. Apparently Niall had been delighted to find John’s blog, both he and Ian becoming huge fans of their escapades. While having problems at the exhibit wasn’t ideal, Niall admitted that it gave him the perfect opportunity to finally reach out to John.

When Sherlock didn’t find anything of relevance in the offices, Niall guided them upstairs to explore the creative spaces. The actual exhibit took place over two separate floors, the first set up with a preparation area for the audience to choose their outfits for the evening and a common room for pre- and post-performance mingling. The few windows in the rooms were covered with a dark fabric draped over them to block out any outside light. Additional scarves and swaths of fabric covered all of the walls, artfully draped into dramatic shapes and covered in deep coloured designs that reminded John of fortune tellers in a travelling circus. The rough wooden floors had been covered with overlapping circular rugs with such fine detailing that, in the low light, made them look like a solid forest floor. In the front room, the light came from a single florescent fixture in the middle of the ceiling, illuminating the four dressing tables with mirrors and the many tables covered with assorted jewelry and clothes. A pair of corners held larger fabric dangling from the ceiling from a single peg, creating a more private dressing area for those who wished to fully immerse themselves with a full costume. Even from a quick once over of the room, John was able to spot the various discrete security cameras covering every area except the two dressing corners.

The meeting room was decorated in a similar manner, with the same layered rugs covering the floors and draped fabrics along the walls. Rather than having a single ceiling light, however, short side tables held Victorian style oil lamps that cast long shadows across the walls and illuminated the room in a faint glow. Along one wall stood a long table meant for refreshments and mismatched stools and worn chairs were dotted around the perimeter. The room gave off a comfortable intimacy that welcomed them in, but the light created just enough of a feeling of mystery to make walking around in it feel like exploring a house with years of rumours of witches and hauntings.

Niall pointed out the various cameras hidden in the second room as well, explaining that they also had infrared capabilities to make it easier to see what happened in the recordings even in the low light. Rising up the lights fully to help them see, Niall left them to explore the two rooms while he prepared for the evening’s show. With a promise to send up employees to interview as they arrived, he disappeared up the almost hidden staircase that led to the performance area.

John left Sherlock to poke about at the costumes left for customers and decided to explore the second room. With the full light, he was able to spot a doorway close to the refreshment table. He found a tight hallway beyond it, leading to a closet sized kitchenette, a bathroom, and a third locked door. He did a quick search of both open rooms, but didn’t find anything out of the ordinary. When he returned to the main room, it was to find Sherlock guiding two large men into it from the opposite direction.

“John, this is Oliver Shaw and Benjamin Drake, the additional security Niall hired after their first thefts. They’ll show you to where the cameras record. I need you to watch the recordings for the past few nights to see if you notice anything suspicious. I know Niall claims he saw nothing on them, but I’m more inclined to trust your judgment.”

With a nod, John left Sherlock behind as he followed the men downstairs and sat at one of the office computers, his notebook at the ready. Hours passed with John staring at the too bright screen, but he didn’t have any more luck than Niall had. After running through the past week’s videos at increased speed with limited success, he leaned back in his chair with a groan and went in search of Sherlock. He found him out in the reception area with Niall and Ian, a frown marring his face.

"Any luck?” John asked once he reached Sherlock’s side. His frown deepened as he shook his head. “None on mine either. How many employees did you talk to?”

“All of them, some before and after the performance. They’ve become extra vigilant ever since the thefts started, but not even the performers noticed anything, despite their near constant interaction with the audience. Is anything missing from tonight?”

“Not that we know of, but we’re still clearing things up,” Niall replied. Before he could continue, a young woman wearing a robe marched towards them, dragging another pale faced woman behind her.

“We’ve got something,” the first woman declared, thrusting a folded piece of paper at Sherlock. “I’m really sorry, Niall, I know we said we’d do a second week if you needed us, but this is unacceptable.”

Sherlock snatched up the note, unfolding it and scanning the contents quickly. Once finished, he thrust it at John to read and began throwing questions at the women, who John assumed were that week’s performers. He made it through the first few lines of what appeared to be a poem, illustrating in vivid detail any number of horrid plans the writer had for the pair, including hints of following them to their home and jobs, before bringing his attention back to Sherlock’s questioning.

“And you never saw anyone go into the dressing room while it was unlocked?” he asked the first woman, who had her arm wrapped around the other.

“The only times it was unlocked was while one of us was in there, and we’re the only ones who had access to it,” she explained. “We found the note on the table, completely on the other side of the room from the door, so there’s no way it was slipped in without someone actually going in. We’ve found a note in there every night after our performances this week, but this one is just disgusting. None of the others were this vulgar or crude.”

Niall stepped up to John’s side and John passed him the note without a word. As he read through it, all of the colour drained from his face. “There’s been nothing this bad so far. The other notes were suggestive, sure, but this…I mean, this is threatening direct violence! And how’d they learn about your personal information? The audience isn’t permitted to know more about you than your first names.”

“What sorts of conversation did you have with the audience during the group interactions?” Sherlock asked.

“Nothing as personal as what’s in there, that’s for sure,” the first woman muttered, shooting her companion a glance. “We let them lead the conversation for the most part, waiting for them to develop the world for the evening and following their lead. I know I didn’t even tell anyone my age, let alone where we live.”

“Me either,” the other woman finally said, her voice shaky. “They don’t ask, for the most part. Personal info just breaks the illusion of the whole thing, and everyone we’ve interacted with focused on what we were making, not who we were outside of the show.”

“Next week’s performers definitely won’t show now,” Niall muttered, running a hand through his hair. “Honestly, I don’t blame them. We might have to cancel until we figure out what’s going on.”

“No,” Sherlock interjected, his mouth set in a determined line. “You’ll just need to find one other person. I’ll perform next week.”

“Sherlock,” John choked out, his mouth gaping in surprise. “You can’t just…you do remember what they do at this exhibit, yeah?”

“Besides, I can’t just pair you up with anyone,” Niall added. “The inherit connection between the two individuals is vital to the storytelling. Plus, we have a strict policy that the week’s pairing are at least friends and have a stable personal relationship for their own safety. I can’t risk anything happening that someone doesn’t consent to do and putting strangers together makes that even more uncertain.”

John pulled Sherlock away from the group in the hopes of speaking with him somewhat more privately. “Why do you need to be one of the performers? Wouldn’t it be more productive if we acted as security?”

“The performers are the only ones who directly interact and speak with each of the audience members other than Niall and Ian,” Sherlock explained, keeping his voice low. “They have a few individuals who consistently attend each week and I suspect one of them may be the culprit. The only way I can interview them without raising suspicion is if I act as one of the performers with you as a bodyguard of sorts.”

His mouth twisting into a frown, John glanced to the side as he thought. “I don’t want you doing anything you’re uncomfortable with, though. The case isn’t worth it if it means you’re forcing yourself into sexual situations with God only knows who.”

Sherlock shrugged, but didn’t meet John’s eyes when he tried to look at him. “I’ll manage. I’m sure we could find someone from the Met who’s willing, particularly if Lestrade helps. We’ll simply have to set up parameters as to what is acceptable and hope they don’t get caught up in the heat of the moment.”

“Yeah, nope, that isn’t happening.” Straightening his back, John turned back to the others. “I’ll do the performances with Sherlock.”

“John.” He shot Sherlock a quick look as he said his name, noting the flash of uncertainty in his eyes. “Are you certain? I’m not willing to jeopardise our friendship over a case and, as I said, I’d be fine finding a different partner – “

“No, I’m doing it,” John said firmly, cutting him off. “I’m the only one I’d trust to do this sort of thing with you, Sherlock. I know it’s not your thing and if you insist on doing it, then you’ll be doing it with me or not at all. Besides,” he added, attempting to crack a smile, “we’ve been in worse situations than this. At least here we’ll be the ones in control of what happens, and neither of us will do anything we don’t want.”

Sherlock searched his face for a moment and seemed to find what he wanted in it as he nodded and turned to Niall. “Would that be acceptable?”

“As long as you both agree, yes. Normally we have all of our participants undergo a few tests to ensure both of their safeties – “

“My brother will make sure to expedite our results and send them to you before the first performance,” Sherlock reassured him as he headed toward the door. “I’ll need you to send me all information you have on customers who have attended more than one week’s performance. John will be in contact with you tomorrow to get whatever information is necessary prior to next week.” Just as he was about to leave, he turned back to the two women. “If you’d like, I can arrange for police surveillance on your home and jobs until we catch the culprit.”

The two glanced at each other before the first shook her head. “No thank you, but we appreciate it. We trust that you’ll catch them quickly and the threats in the note are only that.”

“Very well,” Sherlock said with a nod. “I’ll ensure that a few members of my network remain in the area just to be cautious. I’d rather be overly careful and certain nothing happens than leave the situation to chance.” With that, he swept from the building, John shooting them all hasty goodbyes as he followed quickly behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is literally the only chapter without smut in it so enjoy it while you can, also shout out to my one uni prof Niall who I stole for this character, here's hoping he never ever ever finds this
> 
> Tumblr: futureofthemasses  
> Twitter: ShannCanWrite


	2. Day One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Sherlock researches, John panics. Their first evening of the exhibit arrives and they receive their first disturbing message from their suspect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You'll notice with each new chapter, I'll be adding tags that include what sorts of acts will be happening in the chapter that is posted. This is mostly so that I can keep track of them, but also can give y'all an idea of what's coming.

After exchanging a few texts the next morning, Niall stopped by Baker Street again to pass over the necessary information and discuss the performances with John. He reassured them both that anything they did would be completely up to them and insisted that they only perform acts that they were comfortable doing. When John attempted to discuss their program with Sherlock after Niall left, however, he was waved off in favour of the customer information. The rest of their Saturday was spent deep in research, with Sherlock reading through the information about the repeat customers and John going through the paperwork from Niall.

"You’re the more experienced of the two of us, John,” Sherlock declared with an overly dramatic flap of his dressing gown as he settled into his chair with the stack of papers. “I’ll let you decide what you’re most confident doing and look over it after. I’m certain I’ll agree with anything you choose.”

As John contemplated the possibilities, he couldn’t deny the ripple of giddy excitement that settled in his stomach. Anyone who took half a glance of Sherlock could appreciate his looks, and John had long since stopped denying his attraction to him, at least in the privacy of his own mind. The last time he properly dated a man was back in his university days, but he’d been known to appreciate the company of his fellow male soldiers in a time of need. He considered trying his luck with men again after his failed attempts with women when he returned to London, but thinking of Sherlock deflated any inclination not long after he had it. He knew the next man he’d like to romance was Sherlock, but he made it abundantly clear from the start that that would never happen. When Sherlock so casually suggested becoming intimate with a stranger, and in front of a group of eager onlookers to boot, it was as though all of John’s focus narrowed in on stopping it from happening at all costs. Offering to do it with him became a desperate last attempt by his panicked mind to stop Sherlock from forcing himself into the situation alone. He may not enjoy what they’d have to do, John reasoned, but at least John would be able to watch over him properly and take care of him in the way he deserved.

He decided to make a list of all possible acts he’d be willing to perform with Sherlock, going through it a second time to scratch out any that he wasn’t comfortable sharing in front of a group. Even he felt a shock of surprise at how long the list was, but he shrugged and passed it over for Sherlock to eliminate whatever he disagreed with as well. Sherlock’s face remained blank as he browsed through it and quickly passed it back, agreeing with each and letting John complete the final selections to give to Niall. Reluctantly John kept it fairly straightforward, although he couldn’t help but selfishly add a few particular kinks of his own to fulfill a few of his fantasies. He doubted he’d ever have any other chance to try them with Sherlock, so he couldn’t fault himself for taking the fullest advantage of the situation, as long as Sherlock was ready and willing.

Before he could over think it, John texted the completed list to Niall and tried to focus on filling out the paperwork for both of them. Niall told them that he’d bring over a box of their performer costumes tomorrow for them to choose from as well as pick up the papers for Ian to go over beforehand. While he still wasn’t totally sure if he understood the purpose of the exhibit, he had to admit that Niall was thorough in making sure everyone was safe and well taken care of. The situation had the potential to lose control quickly if not properly monitored, but other than the thefts and notes with no explanation, he seemed to have everything in order and beyond the minimal requirements. If they, and Sherlock in particular, would be doing this, at least someone John trusted was at its helm.

Sherlock for the most part ignored him in favour of spreading his own papers across most of the sitting room, muttering to himself as he learned more about the repeat customers. John found himself watching him more than usual under the pretense of studying him for any nervousness about what they’d be doing. In reality, John kept getting lost in thoughts of bare skin, flexing muscles, and wetted lips caught open in a gasp. Each time he realised where his mind had wandered, he mentally shook himself and tried to remember that the whole thing would be purely professional. Despite that, John knew he would be doing everything in his power to make sure Sherlock thoroughly enjoyed himself in the process. It was the least he could do if they had to be in such a position of vulnerability together.

When John went up to bed that night, Sherlock was still sat in the middle of the sitting room floor surrounded by papers. His attempts at sleep were interrupted by the continuation of the images that distracted him throughout the day, culminating in a reluctant wank in the hopes of calming himself down. Even that only worked for so long, as thoughts of Sherlock’s hands being the ones on his skin in little more than forty eight hours seemed to increase his desire. After tossing and turning for hours, he finally succeeded in falling asleep, although the day’s images simply followed him into sleep.

Tired of his own restlessness, John texted Niall early and asked if they could meet up to pass over their respective items rather than making him come back to Baker Street again. Within an hour, he received a positive response and hurriedly made his way out of the flat and to the agreed upon Costa. Equipped with a coffee and breakfast sandwich, John picked at them both without much enthusiasm as he waited for Niall to arrive.

Niall had sat across from him and began to speak before John even noticed. It was only when he waved a hand in front of John’s face, chuckling as John shook himself out of his thoughts, that he actually joined the conversation. “God, John, if you really don’t want to do the exhibit, just say so. I’m sure Sherlock’s got other friends who could stand in for you.”

Wincing, John sipped at his drink. “That transparent, am I? And he really doesn’t. I didn’t exaggerate on the blog when I said that he doesn’t let many people in.”

Niall shrugged and toyed with his own cup. “Still, I’m not blind. You can’t tell me there’s nobody you know who wouldn’t jump at the chance to have a bit of that with no strings attached.”

“That’s not going to happen,” John snapped, sagging in defeat as Niall’s eyes rounded in surprise. “Sorry, I just…I don’t want him to get hurt, physically or emotionally, particularly since this isn’t his sort of thing.”

“Oh my, you really _are_ attached to him, aren’t you?” Niall’s surprise turned into smug satisfaction as he grinned. “I told Ian that blog of yours was more affectionate than simple friendship. They sound just like half the letters you used to write to all of those crushes of yours.”

“It’s more than that. It’s like.” John stared down at his sandwich, trying to find the right words. “He’s really not like anyone else I’ve ever met, or probably ever will. He’s got this tenderness that he tries to hide behind his emotionless exterior, but I think he just cares so much that he doesn’t know what to do with it. Did you know, when we first started living together, he’d flinch away every time I’d get too close? But now it’s like he craves even the lightest touches, leaning into them like he’s trying to be casual about it but doesn’t want it to stop. I’ve no idea if he’s ever had any sexual experience, let alone a positive one, and I can’t just let anyone do this with him. He deserves to enjoy it and feel cherished in it, even if it’s only for a case.”

“Wow.” Niall let out a breath and shook his head. “You really are in love with him.”

Barking out a humourless laugh, John nodded. “Yep. He’s said no, though, practically right from the moment we met, so the best I can do is make sure he’s healthy and happy. He might not want to be loved, but I’m going to do it the best I can anyway and take what I can from our friendship.”

Niall simply stared at him for a long moment before picking up the bag at his feet and passing it over to John. “Well, here’s some stuff that I thought you two might be interested in using. All of the clothes are freshly laundered and you’re more than welcome to use anything of your own that you find appropriate. You can wear as much or as little as you’d like – part of the purpose here is to utilize your individual creativity. As for what you’ll need for the actual performances, I’ll have a range of appropriate items for you to choose from each evening.”

“Right, thanks.” John traded the folder of paperwork for the bag, hiding his surprise at how heavy it was. “It starts at six, yeah?”

"Yes. We just need the two of you to get there at four on the first night so that we can go over everything beforehand. It should be pretty straightforward, but I don’t know what kind of preparation Sherlock might have in mind for any of the staff.”

“Sure.” The two of them remained silent for a moment, unsure how to continue after such an emotional moment on John’s part. Eventually Niall asked about one of the cases from the blog, and the two of them spent a pleasant morning chatting about what each had been up to since university. John felt much more relaxed as he slung the bag over his shoulder and said his goodbye to Niall hours later before heading back home.

~~~

Sunday found Sherlock in his mind palace for most of the day and John attempting to distract himself from his nerves. Niall’s selection of costumes was vast and all beautifully made, confirming John’s suspicion that he made most if not all of them himself. He didn’t know much about steampunk style, but a quick internet search and a browse of their available items helped him come up with a few ideas he thought might be decent. He left the bag of goods in the sitting room for Sherlock to choose what he’d like to use, but as far as John could tell, he’d ignored it. Mentally shrugging it off in the expectation that he’d get to it eventually, John took what he wanted from it and left the rest for Sherlock.

When John came downstairs from his room on Monday morning, it was to an empty flat and a missing bag. He hoped that meant Sherlock was working on his clothes for the night rather than just focusing on possible suspects. As it grew closer to the time when they needed to be at the exhibit, John felt his nerves jolting in a harsh reminder of what he and Sherlock would be doing shortly. In his distress over performing sexual acts with him, John had managed to completely forget that they would be doing so in front of a crowd. He never thought of himself as much of an exhibitionist, and thinking about sharing those moments with Sherlock for the first time in front of a bunch of strangers made him sick to his stomach. The only advantage, he attempted to remind himself, was that the audience would help him keep in mind that the acts would only be for the sake of the case.

As he got dressed into the outfit he chose for the first evening, John considered a quick wank to take the edge off, but was interrupted before he could do more than unzip his flies by Sherlock’s return to the flat. He stormed in shouting for John to hurry before they were late, forcing John to hastily throw on his clothes and stumble down the stairs. Sherlock stood impatiently waiting, already in his long coat and texting on his mobile. Without looking at John, he tossed him his jacket and marched down to the waiting cab.

John spent the entire ride shooting looks at Sherlock, attempting to see what sort of costume he came up with for himself. Unfortunately, his coat covered everything except his trousers, which appeared to be a weathered, dark brown leather that clung close to his legs. Swallowing thickly, John drummed his fingers on his own brown trousers, a thick pair he’d found amongst Niall’s creations that reminded him a bit of his old fatigues. At least for the first evening, John strove for comfort first, pairing the trousers with an olive green button up with a pair of breast pockets flanking each other, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows to show off his forearms. He paired it with matching black leather braces and a thick belt to hold a pair of empty holsters on his hips. He hoped to find some appropriate accessories in the dressing room, but when he glanced over himself quickly before following Sherlock out of the flat, he had to admit that what he had put together was flattering.

Niall was waiting for them in the entranceway when they arrived, shooting them a distracted smile as he looked over a stack of paperwork. John barely listened to him as he led them upstairs, explaining how the evening would progress and which repeat customers would be attending. He left them to finish their costumes in the dressing room, taking their coats and shouting back over his shoulder at them to meet him in the performance room when they were ready.

For a long moment, the pair of them simply stared at each other, taking in their outfits. In addition to the tight trousers, Sherlock wore a shirt similar to a waistcoat, dark charcoal in colour with thin black pinstripes almost invisible until the light caught their sheen. Around his neck he wore a stark white cravat stuck into the waistcoat’s high collar, the colour blinding against the rest of his dark attire. The only other colour came from the row of shiny silver buttons than ran along his left side, pulling the waistcoat tight to accentuate his waist. His arms were mostly bare, a hint of black sleeve poking from where his shoulders curved down to his biceps. John forced his eyes up to Sherlock’s face to see him nodding with a slight frown.

“I suspected you might choose an outfit that leaned more towards the Western style of steampunk,” he remarked, strolling forward to dig through a box of accessories. When he straightened, he held a leather shoulder holster in a shade similar to his trousers. “Take off your braces and put this on instead. It will fit with the aesthetic we’re creating better and show off your shoulders and chest to full advantage.” John silently did as he demanded, securing the holster with the belt settled just under his breast pockets. Once he was finished, Sherlock passed over a quartet of gun-shaped devices, obviously fake and decorated to look like something out of a science fiction movie. Together they secured them into the loops under his arms and at his waist and, when Sherlock stepped back to survey him, he nodded in satisfaction.

“Better. This style suits you.”

Swallowing around the lump in his throat, John nodded his thanks back. “You too, but to be honest, not much would look bad on you.” He missed Sherlock blinking in surprise as he brushed past him toward the stairs. “Should we go up?” Without answering, Sherlock trekked up the stairs behind him.

They never ventured up to the top floor of the exhibit space during their previous visit. John wasn’t surprised to find it set up in a similar style to the dressing and meeting rooms with a few minor alterations. Pillows and blankets were artfully arranged in groups of three or four around a raised dais in the centre of the room. On the dais itself sat a large mattress, bare except for the dark purple sheets spread smoothly over it. The most unexpected aspect of the room was the ceiling, which was completely covered in a tiled mirror. John blinked up at himself as Sherlock strolled past him to join Niall at the far corner.

Niall gave them both a cursory glance and shot a quick nod at them, a tiny smirk breaking out on his lips. “Well done, both of you. I worried that you’d have trouble with the outfits, particularly from what I remembered of John’s usual style from back at school.”

John shot back to attention with a scowl. “Oi, it was the late eighties. None of us were what you’d call the pinnacle of style.” He approached the side table where Niall and Sherlock stood, glancing down at the box atop it. “This is for us, I assume?”

Inside were various necessities for a night of pleasure, all of it still in the original packaging. “Normally we encourage our couples to bring whatever personal items they’d like to use in order to make the experience as natural and comfortable for them as possible, but seeing as you two aren’t actually together, I just bought some of the usual for now. Anything in particular you’d like, just let me know beforehand, or if you find something you want you can bring it in and we’ll refund you whatever it cost. Whatever’s left after the week’s out, you’re welcome to take.” Niall shot them both a glance, his eyebrow raised suggestively. John rolled his eyes before reaching inside to grab a container of lube to study it.

“This is great, Niall, thanks. Although I’ve got to wonder what the hell you’re charging for all of this to be able to afford everything.”

“Let’s just say we’re an incredibly exclusive programme, and have been lucky enough to find a few very willing sponsors.” With a wink, he twirled around to gesture at the room at large. “Right, we’ll start down in the meeting room with you two waiting for everyone to arrive. They’ll have about a half an hour to decide on the sort of storyline they’d like to follow for the evening and to complete their outfits. Once they’re done, they’ll join you in the meeting room for an hour of story building where the two of you will not be allowed to interact with each other whatsoever. I know that’ll make solving the case a bit more challenging, but it’s been the policy from the start and would be suspicious if we suddenly stopped now. You can mingle with whoever else you’d like otherwise, just follow their leads in regard to developing the back story. After the hour’s up, everyone will come up here for the grand performance. You can move whatever items in here you think you might need ahead of time and, as I’ve said before, the audience isn’t allowed any sort of interaction with the scene, including making noises or performing sexual acts themselves. You can take as long or little time as you’d like. Once you’re finished, everyone will return to the meeting room for another hour of mingling before the evening is complete. The rules from before will still apply, but keep in mind that you’ll be returning to the group in whatever state you end the act in as part of the full performance.”

Sherlock peered into the box, his face set in a look of calm indifference. “How many of the repeat customers will be at this evening’s performance?”

“Six – I’ve left the list of names on the table in your dressing room downstairs.” Niall pointed behind them while digging around in his trouser pocket, pulling out a key on a rainbow keychain. “This is one of three keys to the room; Ian and I have the only other ones. The door automatically locks behind you to ensure privacy, so make sure one of you has it on you before you leave. Anything in here you’d like to use, just put it on the bed before you leave. I’ll keep the box of supplies in the dressing room as well, so you’re free to take anything from it prior to the performances as needed. I’ll send one of the security guards in to grab you when the customers start to arrive, but if you need anything, don’t be afraid to let someone know.” He traded John the lube for the key before glancing down at his watch and heading toward the stairs. “Ian and I will be down in the reception area, but I’ve got my mobile, so you can text me for anything. Just make sure you don’t use yours during the performances – the security will be in every room at all times, so they’ll be there if there are any issues. I’ll leave you two to get ready.” With a wave, he disappeared down the stairs.

They stood in awkward silence for a moment, Sherlock peering around the room and John trying not to watch him too closely. With a huff, John physically tried to shake off his nervousness, making his way around the room and grabbing a few pillows and blankets and tossing them onto the mattress. Once he was satisfied, he moved back to Sherlock’s side and scrounged around in the box, choosing two different bottles of lubes he’d used himself and enjoyed before considering the assortment of condoms.

“How do you feel about condoms?” he asked Sherlock, his voice surprisingly even. “We’re both clean, according to Mycroft’s tests, so it’s really just a matter of preference, particularly today. Not sure how interested you are in getting messy, since we’ll be parading around like that for a bit before being able to clean up.”

“Whatever you’d like is fine,” Sherlock replied, studying John’s chosen lubes. “What will we be doing tonight?”

“Just some hand jobs. I didn’t want to start off with anything too wild.” While he opened one of the packages, John watched Sherlock do the same with the other out of the corner of his eye. “You, ah…have done this before, right? It’s just, Mycroft said…and if this is your first time, it really should be in a better situation than this – “

“Not to worry, John, you don’t have to concern yourself with my blushing virginity,” Sherlock cut in, rolling his eyes. “Contrary to Mycroft’s belief, I do have some experience, small though it may be. Just because I don’t have as strong of an interest now doesn’t mean I didn’t in the past.”

“Right. Good.” John swallowed down the sudden jab of jealousy at this new knowledge and brought the lubes and a single box of condoms just in case over to the bed. “Well, I suppose I should learn a bit about these people we’ll be questioning.” With a nod, Sherlock turned on his heel and led John to their dressing room.

That night’s suspects were a pair of women and four men, all fairly innocuous from what John could tell. He did his best to memorise their names and faces as Sherlock designated three of them for him to focus on. Michael Clark, a middle aged banker and recent widower, had been attending every week that involved a gay couple, specifically younger men. Elizabeth Booth, early thirties and from a wealthy family, had paid in advance for tickets for every week, but only showed up for less than half of the actual performances. Finally, Alexander Fitz, a fellow artist who had been producing work throughout London for the last forty years, was a reluctant participant during their first week open but had been so surprised by how much he enjoyed it that he tried to attend as many as he could. By the time John did a quick browse of each of his suspects, one of the guards they met on their first trip there knocked on their door to bring them to the meeting area. Once there, John turned to Sherlock to speak with him before they were no longer allowed.

“We should have a safe word in case either of us is uncomfortable with what’s happening during the scene,” he said. Surprisingly, Sherlock nodded his agreement readily.

“Vatican cameos,” he replied. “Although I’m sure Niall wouldn’t mind if we simply spoke openly during the act itself, but a safe word would be a more subtle method. I’m confident that you would never do anything to harm me, but the mind is unpredictable in the throes of passion. Having a phrase would allow us both something to focus on just in case of emergency, both in here and the performance area.”

“Right. If you’re uncomfortable at all with anything I do, you have to tell me, yeah? Don’t suffer through it if you don’t have to. And don’t be afraid to use the safe word at any moment and I’ll stop.”

“The same goes for you, John,” Sherlock said with an intense gleam to his eyes. “You may be fairly sexually comfortable with women, but you don’t have to force yourself to do anything with me if you’d rather not.”

“I’m sure I’ll be fine, but thanks.” John kept the fact that the idea of finally getting to touch Sherlock made him feel as though a helium balloon was swelling in his chest to himself. He wiped his sweaty palms on his trousers and adjusted his holsters to sit more comfortably around his chest. Before he had the chance to say anything more, the door to the main dressing room opened and the night’s audience trickled in.

They were dressed in varying degrees of thoroughness, a handful of them obviously wearing clothes they brought themselves while others only chose a few of the available accessories from those provided. They began to mingle through the room, talking amongst themselves and picking at the food provided on the tables. John and Sherlock were forced to separate, although John found himself searching him out to check on him. Sherlock fell into the role fairly easily, however, immediately leaning his palms back onto a table and stretching out his long legs to cross them in front of him. A pair of men approached him moments later, immediately engaging him in an animated conversation. A crooked grin settled on his lips as he spoke to them, his posture remaining languid and open.

John spotted Michael first and tried to make his way casually over to him. He passed one of the employees with a tray of tin cups weathered to make them look older than they actually were and snatched one up, taking a deep gulp from it to calm his nerves. He barely stopped beside a lantern before Michael approached him, making no attempt to hide it as he eyed John up and down.

“John, isn’t it?” he asked, leaning his side against the wall beside him and crossing his arms. Pulling up his most charming smile, John nodded and watched him through his lashes as he took another sip. He watched Michael swallow as he glanced from his lips back up to his eyes. “I’ll be honest, I didn’t expect to find a former doctor working at one of these establishments.”

Swallowing down his surprise at the direction of their conversation, John shrugged a shoulder and hooked his free thumb into one of his belt loops. “Difficult times mean making ends meet in whatever way you can. Besides, this provides a bit more stability than wandering around out there where I could be shot at any moment, or worse. Not to mention the situation is much more…enjoyable here than it is out there.”

Michael glanced over at Sherlock, staring at him as though he was a meal and he a man starved. “Certainly. Caring for creatures such as that must be an improvement over the hell outside. I wouldn’t complain about being in your position, that’s for sure.”

John hummed in noncommittal agreement and grinned at a pair of women who spotted them and soon joined their group. He allowed them a brief moment of conversation together as he gazed across the room at Sherlock, protective of him as always. The group around him had tripled and he seemed to luxuriate in the attention, throwing his head back in laughter to show a tease of his neck, most of it remaining concealed by his cravat. As he lowered his face, however, he immediately met John’s eyes and winked. A few of those around him turned to look at John, who licked his lips and grinned widely back. He decided from the start to keep his character as similar to himself as possible to make it easier, but he couldn’t help but let slip some of the more flirtatious moves he had wanted to use on Sherlock for ages. Their observers grinned and giggled amongst themselves and John blamed the hungry stare of Sherlock’s eyes on his acting for the role.

For the next hour, John mingled and flirted, trying to stop his attention from fixating on Sherlock instead of their audience as anticipation for the main event built. After what felt like ages, an employee dressed in costume to match called everyone to attention and ushered the customers upstairs, leaving John and Sherlock to wait until they were settled and summoned.

“Well,” John muttered as he came to Sherlock’s side. “This is it.” Sherlock merely nodded and in a few moments, the same employee called out to them and they ascended the stairs.

The dull, excited chatter in the room hushed into silence the moment they entered. Sherlock froze at the entrance, his eyes darting around the room at the patiently waiting faces peering back at them. Instinctively wanting to protect him and sensing the spike of nerves waving off of him, John reached over to grab Sherlock’s hand and give it a squeeze. Sherlock’s head shot around towards John, his eyes enormous and round.

“Let me?” John asked quietly. Blinking once, Sherlock nodded his head, the movement almost small enough that John didn’t catch it. Keeping his face open and reassuring, John pulled Sherlock along and helped him up onto the dais, guiding him to his knees with his arse resting on his heels. As Sherlock’s gaze slowly rose up to John’s, his eyelashes fluttering nervously, John swallowed down his moan of affectionate need. He lowered himself to his own knees, cupping Sherlock’s jaw in both hands as he ran his thumbs along his cheekbones.

The muted light of the room worked twofold in their favour, shrouding their audience until they shifted into shadows dancing at the edges of their visions and bringing the contours of Sherlock’s face out in stark relief. John took the opportunity to map out his face as he’d always wanted, the rough calluses of his fingertips dragging heavy across Sherlock’s smooth skin. Sherlock’s eyes fell fully shut and his mouth opened on a small gasp that sounded sharp in the otherwise quiet room. Leaning forward, John nudged their noses together before running his down Sherlock’s cheek, bringing their lips into close contact. Sherlock rocked up into him, attempting to convince John to move closer, but John continued lower, giving him only a small nip to the corner of his mouth before shifting over to his jaw.

John traced the sharp edge of his jaw line with kisses, pausing when he reached the soft fabric of his cravat. Avoiding touching the rest of his body, John moved his hand up to untie it, letting it hang loose around Sherlock’s neck but exposing a tempting vee of skin. It guided John’s gaze down to the promising shadow of Sherlock’s chest, where skin disappeared below his shirt and waistcoat. Eager for more skin to touch, John ran his hand back down along the buttons at Sherlock’s side, slipping them open from their fastenings. As he did, his lips traced down Sherlock’s now exposed neck, his mouth applying just enough pressure to bring goose bumps to his skin without making any marks. He felt Sherlock’s gasp build against his Adam’s apple and licked at the movement.

“John!” he let out on a sharp breath, his head thrown back as far as it would go. His arms rose from his sides as his hands reached out for John, eventually finding the sides of his shirt and gripping tightly enough to pull the tails from his trousers slightly. John shushed him, his breath ghosting along Sherlock’s skin and making him shudder. Finally John released the last button on his waistcoat and his hands dove under his shirt to grab at the skin of his waist.

“Ready, darling?” John muttered as he pulled away from Sherlock’s neck to look at his face. Sherlock’s eyes fluttered open, his pupils blown dark as he stared up at John desperately. John swallowed thickly and lowered himself until he rested on his heels, copying Sherlock’s position. Reluctantly he released his grip on Sherlock’s waist to grab one of Sherlock’s hands, coaxing his fingers out of the iron grip it had on John’s shirt. With his other hand, he fumbled with the buckle on his chest holster, desperate to loosen his own shirt and take a proper deep breath. Once Sherlock realised what he was doing, he yanked his hand free from John’s hold to help, managing to unbutton all but the last two before his desire to see more overwhelmed him and he pulled the two sides apart to reveal most of John’s chest.

For a moment, Sherlock simply stared down at John’s chest, blinking slowly as though mesmerised. John’s mouth curved into a sly grin and he grabbed Sherlock by the wrist, pulling his hand forward to splay flat across his stomach. Sherlock shivered in response, sensitive to even his own touch on John’s skin, and allowed John to drag the hand lower until it hit John’s belt. He caught the hint quickly and began to undo it with shaking fingers at the same moment John reached for Sherlock’s trousers.

John could feel Sherlock’s enthusiasm for the proceedings easily, his cock nearly splitting the seams of his trousers as it strained forward. Running a single finger down the shape of it, John felt it twitch impossibly thicker. Sherlock fumbled in his attempts to open John’s flies, groaning as his head fell forward to knock against John’s. Shifting around so that their foreheads were pressed together, John slowly slid down Sherlock’s zip, accepting Sherlock’s panting breaths into his own open mouth. The tip of Sherlock’s cock poked just barely over the top of his pants, and John trailed his fingertips along the top of the band, waiting for Sherlock to open his eyes before he continued.

Sherlock caught on quickly, his eyes shooting open as he frantically nodded. John chuckled out a breathless laugh as he worked down the front of Sherlock’s pants enough to free his cock, settling the band just below the base of it and keeping his balls trapped. Forcing himself to keep his eyes locked on Sherlock’s face this first time, he wrapped his fingers around the heft of his cock, griping it loosely as he pulled up on it slowly. Sherlock’s eyes shuttered closed the moment John touched his cock, his head falling back again as a high whine rumbled out of his throat. His hands flew up to grip both sides of John’s shirts, the threads threatening to break from his fierce hold. John couldn’t resist leaning forward and licking at Sherlock’s open mouth, the taste of his gasps and saliva sweet on his tongue. His hand tightened instinctively as he sped up his movements, Sherlock’s cock leaking enough that thoughts of pausing to get the lube flew from his mind.

Sherlock’s breathing veered on hyperventilation, his stomach muscles tightening more each time John’s knuckles brushed against them. John suspected he was close and pushed forward, urging him on silently with his clenched fist. Sherlock came with an almost noiseless gasp, surprising them both as his come splattered across the bottom of both his waistcoat and John’s shirt. Slowing his movements, John coaxed him through the last of his climax, wrapping his thumb and forefinger around the head of his cock to collect the last bit of moisture there. Sherlock gulped against his neck where his head had fallen to rest on his shoulder, his limbs shivering from sensation.

As John rubbed his clean hand against Sherlock’s side soothingly, Sherlock loosened his grip on John’s shirt and snuck it downward without John noticing. John’s nails scraped against bare skin as Sherlock suddenly rubbed the flat of his palm against the front of John’s still closed trousers. His climax snuck up on him as he groaned and pushed into Sherlock’s touch, his nails scratching Sherlock’s waist as it burst from him and soiled both his pants and trousers. He gasped, catching his breath as he assessed their situation, and eventually lifted his head up to meet Sherlock’s wide eyes.

“Alright then,” he muttered, quiet enough so only Sherlock could hear. “Been a few years since that happened.”

Sherlock chuckled as they untangled themselves. His face twisted into a grimace as he took in John’s sticky front. “That will be uncomfortable. Sorry.”

“S’okay,” John replied as he looked himself over. His pants were already clinging to his cock and balls uncomfortably, but he wouldn’t have traded it for anything. “I’ve dealt with worse than walking around with the evidence of a good orgasm.”

Sherlock shot him a tiny smile as their attention was brought abruptly back to their audience by an employee directing everyone back downstairs. Wiping his hands on his already ruined trousers, John wobbled to his feet and reached out to help Sherlock to his. As much of a state John was in, with his messy bottom half and shirt gaping open, Sherlock looked like a disheveled disaster. His limp cock still hung from his opened trousers, the band most likely uncomfortable and chaffing at the delicate skin of his still hidden balls. He at least still had his shirt on, albeit untucked and with his waistcoat nearly ripped in half with a least one button gone. His cravat dangled open around his neck, nearly falling off one shoulder, and his hair stood up in nearly every direction. John spared a brief moment wondering how they’d manage to get a cab to take them home later if they were in this state before pulling Sherlock, his expression caught in dazed confusion, back to the meeting room.

The moment they reached the lower level, John reluctantly dropped Sherlock’s hand and shot him a small nod before marching off across the room. Given what everyone in the room had just seen, he shoved away his growing embarrassment at his appearance. From some of the lingering looks being sent his way as he searched out a drink, he assumed that not only had they put on a decent show, but many in attendance were reassessing John’s fairly innocuous appearance. John once again breathed a mental sigh of relief that none of them would be allowed to touch Sherlock during this except John.

The hour after passed in a blur. John attempted to follow along with the story the guests created, but most of his attention was focused on Sherlock. He’d lost most of his previous confidence, interacting with everyone with a wide eyed expression of surprise as he attempted to casually speak with them while his dick hung out in the open. Just as John was on the verge of throwing the case out the window in favour of rushing to Sherlock’s side to shield him from the hungry expressions of the group surrounding him, Niall arrived and declared the end of the evening. As everyone made their way to the main dressing room, John rushed to Sherlock’s side.

“Are you okay?” he asked, laying his hand gently on Sherlock’s bare arm. Sherlock blinked down at him and nodded before apparently remembering his state of undress. Flushing a becoming shade of rose, he hastened to finally fix his trousers without meeting John’s eye. John grinned at his sudden bashfulness, finding it ridiculously adorable. “C’mon, let’s go try and get ourselves cleaned up. Did you learn anything useful tonight?”

Taking the distraction for what it was, Sherlock followed John to their room. “I’ve eliminated two of the regulars. We’ll need to switch people tomorrow if possible; some of them were too attached to you for me to do more than observe them from afar.” He continued to speak as John approached the dressing table in their room. Where it once had been mostly empty except for a few brushes and random pieces of jewelry, now there sat a folded note that reminded John of the one the women had found the week before.

“Sherlock,” John interrupted, picking up the note and turning back to him. Sherlock straightened sharply from the sink where he was washing his hands and dried them with a shake, approaching John with a frown. He snatched up the paper and unfolded it, John coming to stand at his side to read along with him.

“Dear gentlemen,” it read in a typewriter style font. “Oh, how I have been looking forward to a moment such as this. A rugged man of the world, unassuming from his outward appearance but possessing of the prowess and gifts of men a thousand times more intimidating. A delicate yet brash creature of steel yearning for the care and punishment of a true man’s hands and cock. What a gift to be given to us, this opportunity to watch one man possess the other in all ways, owning and reveling in forbidden skin. I look forward to a week of ecstasy and the chance to lord over two such imposing yet fragile men.”

John rolled his neck, scratching at the back of it. “Well, that’s…yeah, that both a bit flattering and a lot creepy. How’d they manage to write it and be at the show at the same time?”

“It was written before the show,” Sherlock said, reading through it a second time. “I suspected as much from what happened at previous shows, but this proves it. Ian told me that our names and a single photograph each are shown to the customers prior to their ticket confirmation to help them decide whether they’d like to participate that week or not. It seems our culprit found the both of us acceptable and decided to wax poetic about their own assumptions of us as a special welcome.”

Before John could respond, a knock came at the door and Niall entered with his key before they could respond. “You alright, lads? Everything go okay tonight?”

Sherlock silently passed him the note and they watched as his face paled as he read through it. “Did anyone see someone head in the direction of this dressing room at any point this evening?” Sherlock asked as Niall handed the note back, his hand shaking.

“No, there was nothing. We had employees and security watching it constantly. How on earth does this keep happening?”

“We’ll figure it out, Niall,” John reassured him as he took up a damp towel. He attempted to dab at the stickiness on his stomach and groin with limited success, given the fact that most of it was already dry. “The good news is that these threats won’t push us away like it might others, so all we’ve got to do is figure it out by the end of the week.”

“And we shall,” Sherlock declared, swinging his coat around himself and buttoning it, covering his dishevelment with ease. “Email me all of the security recordings from this evening. Someone must be sneaking around in just the right way to keep all eyes off of them, but they’ve been at it for some time now. They’ll have to slip up sooner rather than later.” Sparing a brief glance at John, he scanned the room. “We ought to have brought a spare change of clothes. Your jacket won’t be long enough to cover that.”

“Hold on, I’ll grab you a sweatshirt,” Niall said, waving for them to follow. “You can tie it around your waist to hide it. We have ways of getting the stains out, so just bring these clothes back tomorrow and we’ll take care of it. Is there anything here you need to take home for tomorrow?”

“No, we’ll just come early tomorrow and dress here,” John replied, nodding his thanks as he tied the shirt around his waist. It didn’t cover all of the damage, but in the darkness of the evening John hoped no one would notice. “Thanks, Niall. We’ll see you then, yeah?” Shooting them a distracted nod, Niall saw them out into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter brought to you by: what if John was dressed up like disheveled Indiana Jones? 
> 
> Shout out to Ashlee for the beta! You da best
> 
> Tumblr: futureofthemasses  
> Twitter: ShannCanWrite


	3. Day Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John gains a bit of insight about Sherlock from the observations of one of their suspects. Sherlock, meanwhile, illustrates just how experienced he is.

The cab ride home was filled with awkward silence. Sitting only pulled the fabric around John’s groin tighter, combining discomfort with the constant reminder of what they did earlier. He wished he’d thought to watch Sherlock’s face when he came, but he suspected it would have shot him off even faster. Besides, John thought giddily, he would have other opportunities. If nothing else, he knew from his responses that Sherlock enjoyed himself during it, although he wished he could have wiped the expression of vulnerability he had afterwards off his face.

John wondered how the rest of the evening would progress as they pulled up to 221b. Part of him expected Sherlock to disappear immediately into his room and refuse to come back out until they needed to leave tomorrow. Thinking he would be gone by the time he followed him up into the flat, John couldn’t hide his open mouthed surprise when he found Sherlock standing awkwardly in the middle of the living room once he’d finished paying the cabbie.

“Would…you like the first shower?” Sherlock asked, his eyes on the floor as he fiddled with one of his coat pockets. When John didn’t immediately respond, Sherlock rushed to continue. “I assumed you might, since you’re…” He gestured vaguely at John’s midsection before letting his arm fall limp at his side.

“Yes!” John said, a bit too loudly, and cleared his throat. “Er, yeah, thanks. Pick out some takeaway, okay? I’ll be quick.”

Sherlock nodded, waiting for John to turn towards the hallway before following. John efficiently stripped off the soiled clothes, tossing them in the corner of the bathroom to gather up for Niall later. He washed himself quickly, being thorough enough to rid himself of the last evidence of their evening. A few minutes later he strolled back out into the kitchen wearing his robe and scrubbing a hand through his damp hair.

By the time he changed into pyjamas and returned downstairs, Sherlock was in the bathroom with the shower running. The kettle Sherlock must have put on clicked just as John reached for the menu on the table. While Sherlock cleaned and dressed, John made them both tea and called in their order. He almost managed to pretend that it was just a normal evening, but every so often a flash of Sherlock’s neck bobbing as he swallowed or the phantom feelings of the fragile skin of his cock in John’s hand would bring John slamming back to the present. He sternly shook himself as he made his way out to sit in his chair, determined not to bring up any of the sexual aspects of the night unless Sherlock did.

Even after the shower turned off, Sherlock didn’t show himself. The takeaway came and John was halfway through his portion, wondering if Sherlock fell asleep, when he finally emerged. His cheeks were pink from the shower, reminding John of his blush from earlier and forcing him to hide his own flaming face in his food. Sherlock didn’t seem to notice, however, as he folded himself into his chair with his meal and a sigh. The silence from the cab threatened to overtake them once again, but John stubbornly fought against it.

“So any theories as to why someone would be leaving the notes?” he asked. Sherlock chewed his bite, his forehead crinkling in thought.

“A few, but none I feel confident enough about to decide it’s the truth,” he eventually replied. “The two patrons I eliminated earlier weren’t attending the entire week during one of the culprit’s thefts, despite having tickets. Apparently one of them had a prior engagement on a Wednesday four weeks ago and the other was busy hooking up with someone they met at the event the night before.”

John chuckled. “Well, Niall never said anything about getting some action after the fact. How’d you get all of this info out of them?”

“While a few of the audience members genuinely wish to fully immerse themselves in the experience, most are actually there because they enjoy watching the sexual activities,” Sherlock said with a shrug. “Once I determined which the suspects were, it was fairly simple to get them to share more about their personal lives rather than developing the story.”

“Makes sense.” John finished his last sip of tea and considered his next words, fiddling with the handle of his mug. “I…hope you were okay tonight? That everything was…fine?”

Sherlock frowned at him for a long moment before he seemed to understand what John meant. He stared down at the food in his lap, pushing some of it around with his fork. “Ah, yes. Yes, I’m fine. You did an exceptional job.”

John couldn’t stop the small smile that crept onto his lips at Sherlock’s response. “Good. Same. It’s…it was for me too. Just wanted to make sure. If we’re going to have to do this, we might as well make sure it’s decent for both of us, right?”

“Yes.” Sherlock busied himself with collecting his half finished meal and mug. “Well, I need to do some work before tomorrow’s performance. We’ll decide on the theme of the evening before we go?”

“Sounds good,” John said with a nod as he followed Sherlock to his feet. “Don’t stay up too late – you won’t be of any use if you’re too exhausted to be on your feet.” Sherlock mumbled something as he placed his dishes in the sink, walking down the hall to his room before John could say anything more. Shaking his head fondly, John put his own on top, promising himself to clean them all in the morning. The events of the evening were catching up to him and he suddenly found the thought of his bed incredibly appealing. Once upstairs, he barely had a moment to look forward to tomorrow night before he was asleep.

~~~

The next day passed comfortably, Sherlock spending his time on his laptop while John puttered around the flat. Now that the first evening was over and had been a relative success, John’s nerves from the weekend petered off into simple excitement. He hoped that Sherlock would be more open to discussing their activities beforehand now that both of them had successfully completed the exhibit and the fear and uncertainty of the first time was behind them. Ever since Sherlock revealed that he wasn’t a virgin, John had been dying of curiosity to learn the extent of his knowledge. While he still felt a lump of agony that he attempted to deny lodged in the centre of his chest at the fact that all of it was simply for a case, he resigned himself to enjoying what he got out of it and working to keep their friendship intact through it, while learning as much as he could about Sherlock’s past in the process.

They decided to head back to the exhibition space early like the day before to give themselves time to prepare. John was surprised to see Sherlock with a large black paper bag in his hand as they headed out the door. Once they were on their way, he nodded down at it on the floor between them.

“What’s that? It’s not your dirty clothes from yesterday – you conveniently left them on the bathroom floor for me to collect.”

Sherlock ignored John’s sarcasm and tightened his hold on the bag’s handles. “A few things I collected over the years that may be useful for costuming. Niall has a wide selection, but it doesn’t hurt to be overly prepared for all circumstances.”

John raised an eyebrow, glancing from the bag to Sherlock’s profile as he looked out the window. “You just so happened to have a collection of steampunk style items hanging around?”

Sherlock sniffed and looked at him out of the corner of his eye, a small smile on his lips. “I’ve had a wide variety of cases throughout my life, John. You never know what might be required.”

Grinning back, John fell back into silence for the rest of the ride. Niall sent them right up to their dressing room when they arrived, his face agitated and distracted. John didn’t let his sudden worry over his old friend distract him from the more pressing matter of the evening ahead, but tucked it away to ask Niall about later. When they entered the dressing room, it was to find a wide array of clothing and accessories beyond just the items from before that John brought along with them. John approached one of the racks of clothes and ran his hand along them thoughtfully.

“What sort of theme should we do tonight?” he asked as he spotted a slim waistcoat with black and white vertical stripes. Sherlock came to his side and squinted down at it, chewing his lip.

“Circus,” he replied, pulling it from the rack and thrusting it at John. “Look for more black and white items. I’ve got a few things that will work well with it and we can make the theme stretch to fit into a steampunk aesthetic with the right accessories.”

John nodded and shrugged out of his jacket. He considered the waistcoat and came to a quick decision, stripping off his shirt and buttoning it on across his bare chest. He dug around in the trousers until he found a shiny pair of black leather ones that vaguely reminded him of pirate breeches. As he turned to search for shoes, he spotted Sherlock and froze, his mouth falling open.

He wore a high collared black shirt that reminded John of the dresses Victorian women wore in mourning, the long sleeves pulling tight at his wrists with a slight ruffle. Once it reached his waist, it flowed out around his hips in larger layers of ruffles that hit him mid thigh before becoming one long swath of fabric down to the floor behind him. The parts below his waist were a vertical striped pattern of black and white that matched John’s waistcoat perfectly. What most surprised John was that the front of the shirt cinched in at his stomach before spreading open like a jacket, revealing a tight and tiny pair of shorts. Only a small portion of his ivory thighs was visible, however, as he wore a pair of tall thigh high socks in a shimmering black. The final piece, which almost made John moan openly when he noticed them, were a pair of short heeled boots in pearl white.

“That…wow.” John puffed out a breath and finally lifted his gaze to meet Sherlock’s, noticing his arched brow. “You look…is all that your stuff or Niall’s?”

“Mine.” Sherlock looked down at himself, a frown worrying his mouth. “Is it alright? I can change – “

“No! I mean.” John swallowed thickly and shook his head. “It’s good. Amazing. You look fantastic.”

Sherlock blushed again and rubbed his fingers along one of the ruffles. “Oh. Well. Thank you.” He looked back up at John through his lashes. “We should find you some boots. A taller pair would go well with your outfit.”

John couldn’t do much more than nod in agreement before joining Sherlock in browsing through the pile. They soon found a rough, worn pair that came up to just below John’s knees. During their search, John also found a top hat with a white band above the brim, studded with a layer of black lace over the whole hat to give it just a touch of texture. John settled it jauntily forward on his head and held out his arms for Sherlock’s inspection.

“Good choice,” he remarked, gesturing up at the hat. John nodded his thanks and looked over the other accessories.

“Anything else you think we should add?” John asked as he picked up a long beaded necklace. Sherlock dug through a different box and pulled out a black leather whip that reminded John of the day they first met. While John was lost in reminiscing, Sherlock searched for a plain belt and used it to secure the whip to his waist.

“There. You can be our ringmaster and I’ll be a trainer of some sort. Normally I’d be against anything as crass as the abuse of animals for entertainment, but I suspect the other connotations of a whip will go over well with this group of individuals.”

“You’re probably right about that.” John picked up the pile of papers on their remaining suspects. “So who’s got who tonight?”

“You take the women tonight and I’ll handle the men, as long as Michael will tear himself away from you. He looked particularly keen on you yesterday.”

“Don’t worry, with you looking like that, I don’t think it’ll take much.” John licked his lips and stared down at the floor. “How should we go about the scene?”

“You assumed the more dominant role last night, so I’ll do the same this time.”

Blinking, John cocked his head to the side. “Are you sure? You remember that tonight is – “

“Yes, I’m sure,” Sherlock interrupted, pulling down his sleeves to distract himself. “Don’t worry, John, I’m sure you’ll find my technique more than adequate.”

“I was worried more about your feelings than your technique, but as long as you’re sure.” John swallowed and tried to think of anything but what they’d be doing soon. “I’ll let you choose whatever supplies you need, then. Condoms and lube and…yeah.”

Sherlock nodded and headed towards the door. “I’ll meet you up there once I’m finished. You’ll keep track of the key this time?” At John’s nod, he left the room with a soft swish of his shirt tails.

John savoured the few minutes of privacy he had before they’d be forced to go join the audience. He supposed he should have expected Sherlock to wear revealing and arousing clothes due to the context of the case, but nothing could have prepared him for actually seeing it. He hoped Sherlock hadn’t noticed his half hard cock when he first spotted Sherlock’s outfit, but with how form fitting his trousers were, he doubted it. At least he wouldn’t have any problems during their performance later.

Adjusting his hat and sticking the room key in his pocket, he made his way out to the meeting room. Sherlock was already there, speaking to Niall who couldn’t help but stare in shocked appreciation at Sherlock’s chosen outfit. When John approached, Niall gave him a once over as well and broke out into an enormous grin.

“Well hello there Ringmaster,” he said with a low whistle. “You’re going to destroy tonight’s group before you even have the chance to get to the performance. I see you still work out.”

John glanced down at his bare arms, which were still in fairly decent shape despite not being in the army anymore, and smirked as he flexed slightly. “Have to, if we’re gonna catch criminals and all that. I’m glad my assets are being put to good use.”

Niall burst into giggles while Sherlock rolled his eyes. Despite that, Sherlock shot him a tiny grin before continuing to speak to Niall. “Which of the regulars will be attending tonight?”

“All of them as far as I know,” Niall replied. “I’ve got all of them scheduled through the week except Roger Hope. Apparently he’s got to be out of town starting on Friday for a business meeting.”

“I’ve already eliminated him as a suspect anyway,” Sherlock declared. “What sorts of things is Michael Clark interested in? I need to get his focus away from John tonight.”

“Believe me, he won’t even notice John’s in the room tonight – no offence, John. He always attaches himself to any of the men wearing anything even slightly feminine, and the way you’re styled tonight, he’ll be all over you.” Niall checked his watch and started to walk backwards towards the stairs. “They’ll be coming in at any minute now – good luck tonight, you two.” Shooting them both a last appraising glance, he disappeared downstairs.

John and Sherlock waited for the guests in silence, John trying not to stare at Sherlock too much. On one of his glances, he caught Sherlock staring back and smiled to himself. Sherlock may claim that relationships weren’t his area, but clearly he could appreciate when John was looking particularly good. Soon the door to the next room opened and a small crowd of black and white clad audience members joined them.

Just as Niall expected, Michael’s eyes grew huge and dilated the moment he saw Sherlock, and he bolted across the room to reach him. Sherlock’s eyes lowered demurely at his approach and he cocked his hip suggestively, running a single finger down the handle of his whip. John snorted his irritation and reminded himself that he could look all he wanted but John was the only one to have the privilege to touch before he spotted Elizabeth and the second woman across the room. John had read about her along with the others the day before – Nicolette Allen was in her sixties and well known in the London art scene as a big fan and even bigger financial contributor. From Niall’s notes, she tended to favour the queer couples over the straight ones, but attended every week religiously regardless. Straightening his waistcoat, John made his way over to her first.

“Evening, madam,” he said, tipping his hat to her and grinning. Nicolette raised a well manicured eyebrow at him as she slowly raked her eyes from his head to his toes. Apparently appreciating what she saw, she offered him her hand that was draped in rings and bracelets and he leaned over it, blowing a kiss above her skin to keep to the rules of no touching.

“Good evening, Ringmaster,” she purred, the tiniest smile coming to her lips as he straightened. “Your circus is gushed over across half the countryside, it seems – I’m looking forward to this evening’s performance.”

“Well then, we hope you are delighted.” John shot her a wink as he grabbed two passing glasses from a tray and offered her one. She took it with a nod of thanks and took a small sip. “How did you happen to hear of us, Miss…?”

“Nicolette. I associate with the right circles to have heard of this particular show long before it even arrived in London.” Her knowing smile told John that her statement was more true of Niall’s exhibition itself rather than simply the story they were creating. John hummed his interest as he drank from his glass, hoping she would continue unprompted. “Niall, your…proprietor, has gained quite the name for himself in his short time in London. I’ve friends who came home from Belfast gushing of this little show.”

“That’s all we can hope for,” John replied, stealing a glance at Sherlock. He almost couldn’t see him through the crowd that surrounded him, many of them visibly straining with the need to touch him. Sherlock must have felt his gaze and looked up to meet his eyes, shooting him a brief smile.

“You certainly have the most delightful companion acting as your tamer,” Nicolette remarked, watching John watch Sherlock. John’s attention snapped back to her with a blink. “He’s become quite popular amongst the others.”

“Oh? But not for you?”

She shrugged a slim shoulder and turned to properly watch Sherlock and his crowd of onlookers. “He is very responsive, I must admit, and a joy to look at. But it’s very clear that he is accounted for, and I suspect that you aren’t much for sharing.”

“I…” John struggled with a way to respond without giving too much away. “Our circus lives are separate from our private ones. He’s free to do with himself as he likes beyond our…performances.”

“That may be, but I wager he wouldn’t mind keeping things the same for both.”

“What makes you say that?” John felt as though his stomach was lodged in his throat and he took another drink to try and clear it.

Nicolette turned back to face him, both eyebrows now raised in dull surprise. “May I be perfectly honest with you, John?” At his nod, she continued. “I saw the way his eyes followed you last night, and yours him. And I know the expression he held in them – what he feels for you goes far beyond friendship. Whatever your current arrangement may be, he clearly would be open and more than willing for something much more.” She traded her now empty glass for a new one as a waiter passed, nodding her thanks. “Just something to think about.” With that, she sent him a wave and strolled away.

John didn’t pay much attention to anything else for the rest of the hour, distracted by Nicolette’s words. Given the fact that she had been attending these events from the start, he suspected she knew what she was talking about. After weeks of watching very in love couples have sex together for a week each, she’d be well versed in what made each compatible and those that felt strongly for each other. Emotion was hard to hide in the throes of passion, even when they were acting the part, and John knew his were on obvious display the night before. He was determined to pay more attention tonight, hoping he might catch what she saw.

Sherlock seemed less tentative as they waited together to go up to the performance area. They both remained silent, John trying not to pester Sherlock about whether he was okay. If Sherlock could trust John to take the lead on their first evening, John could trust him as well. He let Sherlock lead him upstairs once they were given the call to enter, easily falling behind him.

Turning to John once they reached the bed, Sherlock carefully took his hat and placed it on the floor. They simply stared at each other for a moment, John holding his breath as he waited for Sherlock to begin. Sherlock eventually raised a graceful arm, lifting a single finger to run slowly down the length of John’s bare arm. Shivering at the too faint touch, John felt his eyes flutter closed. The positive reaction seemed to have the right effect on Sherlock as he quickly leaned forward to attach his mouth to the side of John’s neck.

John let out a choked gasp as Sherlock sucked lightly at the junction of neck and shoulder, applying just enough pressure for John to feel like his skin was on fire from sensation but not enough to leave a mark. Sherlock moved his lips up higher, coaxing John into letting his head fall back. Once he had done so, Sherlock moved to his Adam’s apple, running his tongue around the edges before latching his lips around it. John’s hands snapped up to grasp desperately at Sherlock’s elbows as he gasped for breath, his knees already turning wobbly.

Sherlock sensed his weakness immediately, guiding John down to sit on the edge of the mattress. He sunk down to his knees before him in a single smooth movement, using his hands on John’s thighs to push them wide apart. He quickly settled between John’s legs and returned to his neck, licking up the length of the opposite side as before. John sighed and leaned on his palms back against the mattress, letting his eyes flutter open. He met his own gaze in the mirrors on the ceiling and his mouth fell open on a groan as he watched Sherlock’s curly head bob as he moved along his neck. Sherlock glanced up at him and followed his eyes to the sight on the ceiling. John felt as well as saw Sherlock grin against his skin in response and lifted a hand to pinch his side playfully. Sherlock chuckled, his breath hot and damp, and John nearly whined in want.

Having mercy on him, Sherlock carefully guided John to lay back with his head against a pillow. John blinked dazedly at his own reflection, noting the incredibly obvious erection that pushed against his tight trousers. Sherlock’s back flexed slightly as he moved around on the bed, just barely visible in the mirror with his shirt still on. John had a sudden urge to run his nails down the bare length of it to see the stark red marks against his skin. He stored the idea away for a future evening and returned his focus to the current moment.

Settling into a comfortable position, Sherlock continued to lave at John’s neck as he rubbed his hand against John’s covered chest. Once he reached the top of his waistcoat, he ran his index finger along the edge, brushing just barely against John’s skin. His other hand wiggled between their bodies, attempting to unbutton the front. His wiggling rubbed their fronts together and they both groaned, getting briefly lost in the friction their bodies made against each other while clothed. Sherlock grumbled and abruptly sat up, swinging his leg around to properly straddle John rather than simply sprawl over him. He grasped both sides of John’s waistcoat and yanked, sending a spray of buttons everywhere as they broke apart.

“Sorry,” Sherlock muttered, though there wasn’t much apology in his tone. Almost immediately he leaned back down to run his tongue down the middle of John’s breastbone. John’s reply stuck in his throat for a moment and he unconsciously sunk both hands into Sherlock’s hair.

“We’ll take it out of Niall’s bill,” he eventually breathed out, stroking the silk of Sherlock’s hair. Sherlock smiled as he glanced up at John and moved up to wrap his lips around one of John’s nipples. John’s grip tightened and he glanced away, hoping to calm himself from the sensations by looking away from him. The mirror worked against his plan, however, but John wasn’t entirely sure he minded. Sherlock’s striped and ruffled arse bobbed in the air as he moved, the split sides of his shirt parting just right to reveal his socks. As he moved from one nipple to the other, his calves shifted under them and John saw the muscles strain. Half of him wished he could reach more than Sherlock’s head, but the other knew having more access would distract him from what Sherlock was doing with his tongue.

As Sherlock worked his tongue and lips around John’s nipple, one of his hands snuck over to grasp around on the bed. Eventually he knocked against the bottle of lube he was searching for, inadvertently humming his success against John. In response, John’s hips kicked up as he bucked into Sherlock, dislodging his mouth. When John’s eyes shifted down to look at Sherlock, it was to see him blinking down at him, his face shiny with his own saliva.

“Please…pants,” John huffed out, each word escaping on a gasp for breath. Sherlock’s surprise morphed into a smile as he ran his hand down John’s side to his trousers. A slight peak of hair that led down to John’s groin was visible above the line of his trousers and Sherlock gave it immediate attention. He scratched his nails into the hair for a moment, letting the tips of his fingers dip just under the edge of his trousers. John’s cock gave an anxious pulse and Sherlock rubbed the lower part of his palm over the area he could reach. John clenched his teeth and swallowed, begging himself not to come too soon.

Sherlock finally had mercy on him and pulled down John’s zip. He stared down at his crotch before slowly lifting round eyes to stare at John watching him. “I thought you said you had pants?” he asked, so low that John almost missed it.

It was John’s turn to grin. “That’s what I was trying to tell you. I wanted to warn you that I didn’t bother with them since the trousers were so tight.”

Blowing out a steadying breath, Sherlock turned his attention back to John’s cock straining from beneath the trousers. He used two fingers to push aside the fabric, coaxing John out on his own as he flipped open the lube one handed and squirted a bit into his palm. The crown caught on the edge of his fly and Sherlock bent nearly in half to place his lips against the skin he could reach. By slowly sucking on the exposed parts of John’s cock, he managed to bring it to enough fullness that the rest of it broke free and stood proudly up from John’s body. Running only his eyes up the length of it, Sherlock considered briefly before moving up to swallow it straight down to the root.

John let out a yell and shot up into nearly a sitting position, managing to catch himself on his elbows before he fell fully back onto the bed. Sherlock gave a single great suck, his cheeks hollowing out as he shifted John’s cock further back into his throat. He huffed out a breath from his nose and dragged his mouth back up, moving almost impossibly slowly. John’s eyes rolled back as he closed them and he let himself fall back with a small thump. As Sherlock reached the crown, he released it with a pop and watched John heave in a few breaths.

Once John had calmed slightly and looked up at him, Sherlock nodded his head down at John’s hands. “Hold on,” he said and dropped his top half down onto the bed to bring John’s cock into easier access to his mouth. John sucked in one final breath and stared down at Sherlock’s arse in the air to focus as Sherlock took him down once more.

Readily taking Sherlock’s advice, John dug his hands back into Sherlock’s hair and gripped tight. Sherlock groaned, sending vibrations all the way down to John’s balls and making him shiver in sensation. As though sensing where John wished he’d go, Sherlock brought his lubed hand upward and into his trousers to drag out John’s balls. Balancing on his knees and opposite shoulder, Sherlock rolled John’s balls along his palm, eventually settling his index finger on the skin behind them.

Taking a deep breath through his nose, Sherlock took all of John back in at the same time as he began to rub his fingertip behind his balls. The dual sensation made John throw his head back over the top of the pillow, his mouth letting out a series of high pitched ahhs without him consciously making the choice to do so. Sherlock increased the pressure with his finger as he sucked and John only had the chance to tug on his hair briefly in warning before he started to come. As John shot down his throat, he moved his hand away and pulled up on John’s cock until just the crown was in his mouth. He ran his tongue just under the plume to coax out the last bit and John’s whole body shivered with sensation.

John blinked himself back into the moment, releasing his death grip on Sherlock’s hair. When he looked down, it was to see Sherlock’s dilated eyes staring back at him intently. He shifted to his knees, his arse wiggling in discomfort, and John pushed himself up into a sitting position. With shaking hands, he reached out to pull Sherlock into his lap, immediately diving into his tiny shorts for his cock. Sherlock draped his arms around John’s neck, one of his legs coming up to wrap around John’s waist. He threw his head back and wrapped a single gentle hand around the back of John’s neck as he began to pump him in his sweaty palm.

Sherlock came within a minute, his cock not even fully out of his shorts. His come shot awkwardly up the front of his shirt, showing up stark against the black. John worked him until the last bit of fluid spilled onto his fingers, finally pulling his hand away to rub soothingly against a sock clad thigh. He watched Sherlock slowly lower his head and open his eyes, shooting him a small smile.

“Now you’re the one covered in come,” John remarked quietly. Sherlock looked down at himself and half shrugged a shoulder.

“And you’ll be waltzing around with your cock out,” Sherlock replied, his voice impossibly lower than usual. John chuckled to hide his shiver.

“We’re even now then.” Sherlock simply nodded and they began the process of untangling themselves from each other. When Sherlock rose to his feet, John couldn’t help but burst into giggles, falling back on the pillow. Sherlock’s brows furrowed as he looked over himself and realised what was so amusing – a hand print, roughly the size of John’s palm, was dripping a slow line of come down one of Sherlock’s thighs. Looking back up at John, Sherlock raised a single questioning eyebrow down at John.

“That’s my fault, but to be fair, it is your come,” John said as he pushed himself to his feet. He adjusted his trousers so that they at least sat straight, despite his groin being out for everyone to see. With how tight the trousers were, he expected they would at least stay in place and keep a bit of John’s modesty.

“At least the audience will be getting their money’s worth.” Sherlock coughed and waved towards the stairs. “We’d best go down.”

“Is your throat okay?” John asked as they descended, automatically falling into doctor mode now that his thoughts were no longer back on the bed. “Do you want me to look at it?”

“It’s fine, John, this was hardly my first blow job.” John’s face must have shown some of the jealous rage that bubbled up from his gut at the remark because he was quick to continue. “If you’d like, you can look it over later when we get home.”

John could only nod his agreement as they arrived in the meeting room and were forced to separate. It wasn’t until they had long since parted, Sherlock to a group who were impossibly eager to claim his attention and John to the rest, that he realised he once again forgot to pay attention to Sherlock’s face during the encounter. For the most part, his expressions had been lost in John’s groin, but they were close and face to face while John finished him off. He glanced around the room in search of Nicolette, wondering if it would be ridiculous to go talk to her about Sherlock caught up in an orgasm, and found her hidden near a wall with a few others. Sensing his gaze, she met his eyes and lifted her glass in a long distance toast. Unable to break himself away from his conversation, John’s attention shifted from her to Sherlock for the rest of the evening.

As delicious as Sherlock looked the night before, John found him even more appealing that night. The sleeves of his shirt had been pushed up to just below his elbows during their activities, revealing just enough more of his tempting skin to draw John’s eyes to them. His shorts, already barely large enough to begin with, hung lower on his hips than before, the shape of his resting cock obvious since he couldn’t adjust it properly. Whether it was a trick of the light or John’s own overactive imagination, he had no idea, but John could swear he still saw the faint outline of his come covered palm on the meat of Sherlock’s thigh.

Finally the exhibit came to an end for the evening, and John led the two of them back to their dressing room. The key was still in his pocket as it had been all night, digging harshly into his hip in the too small pocket of his trousers. He eventually jiggled them out and let the both of them in. As soon as they entered, they both saw the folded paper on the table. After a brief glance at each other, Sherlock strolled forward to pick it up while John shimmied out of his outfit and into his proper clothes.

“More of the same,” Sherlock muttered, passing it over for John to read while he changed. The note alluded to the performance yesterday, continuing to extol John’s skills and Sherlock’s reaction. Clearly their letter writer enjoyed their performance thoroughly, and John was distracted halfway through reading by a mark in the lower right hand corner.

“Is that _dried come_?” he said incredulously, sniffing the spot and letting out a noise of disgust. Sherlock was at his side immediately, snatching up the note again and pressing it close to his face. “I swear to God, if you lick that paper…”

“Of course not, it might compromise the sample.” He folded it back up carefully, wrapping it up in a paper towel from the sink in the corner and slipping it into his pocket. “I need to get to Bart’s to examine this. Hopefully there’s enough of a sample for me to extract a bit of DNA.”

“What about your throat?” Sherlock’s voice was still gravely and, while he expected he was fine, John still felt an exaggerated need to check him over. Pausing in his flurry to head out the door, Sherlock bent over slightly and presented his long neck for John’s inspection. John felt around the muscles, gently guiding Sherlock as he felt along the length of it for tenderness. When Sherlock didn’t respond to any of his touches, he had to admit defeat and release him once more. “I want you to drink at least one full glass of water slowly, more if it helps. I’ll text Molly to make sure she sees you do it, so don’t try and get around it. If it still hurts in the morning, let me know.”

With a roll of his eyes, Sherlock straightened. “Yes, Doctor. I’ll be late.”

“Just make sure you get some sleep before tomorrow night!” John yelled as Sherlock raced from the room. John sighed at the lack of response from Sherlock and did a once over of the room, trying to find anything missing or out of place. Surprisingly, it was something new he found, laying under where the note had been. Pinned to a note card was a small brooch in the shape of the RAMC shield, the colours worn down until it was only a dull copper. Written by hand on the card were the words WEAR IT FOR ME.

John snatched up a paper towel of his own and was just finishing wrapping the brooch and note up in it when Niall knocked and entered. Following his instincts, John slipped it discretely into his coat pocket before smiling across at Niall.

“Nice show, lads – oh.” Niall glanced around the room in search of Sherlock. “Where’s Sherlock? Is everything okay?”

“We found another note,” John explained. “There was a possible semen sample on it, so he ran off to see if he could get anything out of it.”

“Semen…you mean someone made the note and got off on it? Jesus.” Niall ran a hand down his face, trying to hide his disgust. “Well, let me know if he needs absolutely anything. This just keeps getting worse…”

“Don’t worry, we’ll figure it out. He won’t quit until he finds out whoever did this.” Niall nodded, but his expression remained dejected. John patted his shoulder and left him to clean up for the evening. He caught a cab home and seemed to move up and around the flat on automatic, his mind on Sherlock and Nicolette’s claims. As it grew later, John finally gave up waiting for him to come home and, with a reluctant sight, trudged up to his bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *whispers* I actually really like this chapter a lot and I think a solid part of that is because I really enjoy steampunk circus themes
> 
> Ashlee wins for betaing as always
> 
> Tumblr: futureofthemasses  
> Twitter: ShannCanWrite


	4. Day Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While the scenes they perform get more advanced and personal, their suspects narrow and the clues evolve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there friends. How are we doing. Staying inside? Washing our hands? Taking care of our mental health? It's a rough world out there right now, but it also means that my awesome beta is out of work for two weeks and has some time to work on betaing so I can get you something positive as a distraction. Take care of yourselves out there and I hope this gives you a bit of brightness for your day. <3

When John came downstairs in the morning, he found Sherlock passed out on the sofa with his mobile balanced on his chest. He couldn’t help the fond expression that settled on his face when he came up to his side to watch him sleep for a moment. His mouth hung just slightly open, his breathing deep and even and his eyes at rest without signs of disturbing dreams. Deciding to let him sleep, John slipped downstairs for a sandwich and a coffee at Speedy’s rather than disturb him by making something in the kitchen.

By the time John came back up, the living room was empty and muffled noises came from behind Sherlock’s closed bedroom door. He emerged seconds later in a worn t-shirt and sleeping trousers, his blue dressing gown draped over his shoulders. He immediately made for his chair and slouched down into it, taking out his mobile and tapping away at it.

“Get anywhere with the sample on the note?” John asked, coming to sit across from him in his own chair. Sherlock’s face twisted in annoyance and he shook his head.

“Not enough there to properly identify who it came from, although we did confirm it was a semen sample. I dusted it to see if they’d gotten fingerprints on it in the process, but there was nothing.”

John shifted in his seat to reach into his pocket and pulled out the rolled paper towel and its contents from the night before. “Maybe you can get something out of this. I found it under the note after you left.”

Sherlock took the small package and carefully unwrapped it, squinting thoughtfully down at both. “This is old. The wear is from use rather than from someone just leaving it in a box somewhere to rust. Most likely an original badge from someone who actually served in the army.”

“That’s what I suspected,” John said with a nod. “I did a bit of research last night and that particular emblem is from around World War II. I’d wager it came from someone’s grandparent as a family heirloom or something. But how’d they know I was in the RAMC too?”

“It’s entirely possible that they didn’t.” Sherlock’s attention switched from the brooch to the written note that came with it. “Obviously everyone who has attended the exhibit has seen at least some of your scar and some likely have put together that, between it and your natural military rest, you served at some point. With how specific it is to you, however, I suspect whoever is leaving these notes did some research on you after learning your name.”

“I mean, they’ve learned things about the personal lives of others who performed so that makes sense. And it isn’t as though either of us is very difficult to find online once you start looking anymore. Do you think they’ll suspect that we’re investigating them?”

“Oh, I have no doubt that they already know. I believe our little letter writer wants to be caught.” He handed back the brooch and kept the note. “Do as they say and wear it, but wait until tomorrow evening. I want to see if they have a visible response when they think you disobeyed.”

John slipped it back into his pocket and licked his lips, wondering how best to guide the rest of the conversation. Deciding that bluntness would be best, he cleared his throat to catch Sherlock’s attention. “You’re aware of what we’re doing tonight?”

Sherlock had gone back to his mobile, but John could tell he was paying attention from the fact that his eyes weren’t moving across the screen. “Bondage. What did you have in mind? I’m assuming you won’t let us leave this evening without discussing it beforehand.”

“No, particularly since we’ve never engaged in this sort of play together before.” John drummed his fingers on the arms of his chair as he watched Sherlock carefully. “How much experience do you have with bondage?”

Shrugging, Sherlock set his mobile back down and laced his fingers together on his lap. “Not much, but I have done it before. I’ve always been the one tied up, so I would prefer to do the same this time.”

“I’ve only ever done the binding, so I agree. How extensive would you like it to be? And do you already have equipment or should I ask Niall about what he’s got?”

“I have everything we need.” Sherlock pushed himself to his feet and headed to his room. John decided to follow and found Sherlock on the floor with his arse in the air, digging around under his bed. Flushing and forcing his eyes upwards, John sat on the edge of his bed as Sherlock raised up to his knees with a large black box. He set it on the bed and climbed up on the opposite side from John to open it.

John’s eyes grew huge as he looked inside the box at the enormous collection it held. Organised in neat compartments was everything John could possibly think of for a night of brilliant sex, from blindfolds and ribbons to dildos and butt plugs. Sherlock rummaged around amongst the bondage equipment and chose three items, laying them out on the bed for John to see. Two of them were standard bondage ropes, each of a different thickness. The last was a thick black ribbon, silky smooth when John ran a finger over it.

“These are the ones I’ve enjoyed the most in the past,” Sherlock said, his voice shockingly casual considering he just showed John his entire collection of sex toys. “I’ll let you choose which you’d feel more comfortable using.”

John instantly reached for the thinnest rope, taking it between his two closed fists and giving it a yank. The rope gave a bit in his hold, pulling taut in a visually appealing manner. He took a moment to imagine it pulling against Sherlock’s pale skin, the edges turning a pleasing pink where the rope would rub against it. Mentally shaking himself, he handed it back to Sherlock.

“That’ll do. What sort of design would you like?”

Smiling slightly, Sherlock took the rope and wrapped it around one hand. “I’ll leave that decision to you. If it’s anything I don’t like, I’ll let you know.”

John studied his face for a moment. “You _will_ tell me though, right? I can’t do this unless I know you’re completely comfortable and honest with me.”

Sherlock made sure to meet John’s eyes before responding. “I trust you with my life, John. There’s no one else I’ve ever felt more comfortable doing this with. I put myself in your incredibly capable hands with the upmost confidence.”

Unable to properly respond at first, John swallowed and nodded. “Ah, thanks. I feel the same. About you, I mean.” He cleared his throat and stared at Sherlock’s hands, which still held the rope. “You’ll just have to choose a safe word again. And we’ll need to decide when we’ll be doing all of this, before we leave or during the performance.”

Gazing across the room seemingly in thought, Sherlock absentmindedly tugged at the rope. “I’ll use Vatican cameos again, although I doubt I’ll use it.”

“You’ll have it anyway, I don’t care what you think,” John interrupted with a growl. “No scene should be done without one of the sub’s choosing. It’s bad enough that we’ll be going into this without having done it in private before, but I certainly won’t let it happen without a safe word.”

Sherlock’s small smile returned as he continued. “As for the application, I’d suggest during the scene itself. Putting on the ropes themselves can be quite the erotic experience and would add something different to what we’ve been doing. Besides, I’ll have the opportunity to properly observe the audience while you apply them.” He stood abruptly and gave John the rope before he starting packing up his box and returning it to the space under his bed. “I should study the note – this has been the first time the suspect has written anything by hand and I should be able to glean something of importance from it.”

John shot to his feet with the rope clenched in both hands. “Right! Yeah. Good idea. I’ll just…see what sort of theme we might be able to use for tonight.” Before Sherlock could respond, John was out the door and up the stairs to his room.

Leaning back against his closed door, John dragged a hand down his face and groaned. While Sherlock may have been comfortable casually discussing BDSM practices, John found himself getting turned on simply from the thought of Sherlock experimenting with it, regardless of how cavalier he seemed about this aspect of his past. Images of a younger, more vulnerable Sherlock without the harshness of a world that treated him as though he was a freak made his heart squeeze in sympathy and rage at those who hurt him. He hoped that all of his experiments with his body went well, but given his tendency toward ignoring its needs now, he suspected that wasn’t the case. Regardless, he was in John’s hands now, and he would do everything in his power to make sure Sherlock felt safe and well taken care of.

He couldn’t help a quick wank before pulling out his laptop, which thankfully was already in his room. He hoped it would calm the fire of desire the conversation caused, and ideally make that evening last a bit longer than it had the last two nights. From their reactions, their audience didn’t mind if the acts took less time than possibly expected, so John figured they must be doing something right. If nothing else, he was enjoying himself thoroughly, and so was Sherlock from what he could tell.

He lost himself in the internet for a few hours, learning more about the steampunk style and culture than he ever expected. By the time he headed down to the living room once more, he had a few ideas in mind for outfits, particularly ones he hoped Sherlock would wear. Although he had been fairly adventurous and unbiased about his body so far, John decided not to expect much, no matter what he thought would make Sherlock look amazing.

They set off to the studio in silence, John with the rolled up rope they would be using in a discrete bag. Sherlock looked calm, but John suspected that his indifferent expression hid a touch of anxiety. His fingers drummed on the seat between them while his knee jittered constantly, his face set forward to stare out the front window through the partition. Hoping to calm him slightly, John reached his hand out to place it over Sherlock’s, stopping the unconscious movement. His knee halted in its restless tapping as he turned to look at John in surprise. John didn’t turn to meet his eyes, but he gave his fingers a reassuring squeeze. Neither of them spoke, but Sherlock seemed to calm under John’s touch and didn’t pull away.

As soon as they entered the studio, it was as though Sherlock fully took on the mindset of a sub, at least in most regards. To those like Niall who didn’t know him as well, he seemed the same as ever, but John instantly spotted the differences. He allowed John to lead them both through the building, shooting him a small glance each time he went to speak. John noticed right away and shot him approving nods each time it happened, amazed at the subtle, yet significant to him, changes that Sherlock illustrated. When they were finally left alone in their dressing room, Sherlock silently waited for John to direct him appropriately.

John glanced at the boxes and rows of clothes, scanning over them quickly and coming to a decision. “Strip down to your pants,” he said, his voice just slightly softer than the harshness of a direct command. Sherlock followed his demand immediately, folding each piece as he removed it and stacking them on a chair. Meanwhile John found a box he noticed the day before and started digging through it, looking for a piece that had caught his eye. He found it easily, and the fabric was even softer than he expected, causing him to pause to rub it between his fingers before straightening.

“Put this on first,” he said, handing the swath of fabric to Sherlock. He inspected it with an indifferent expression, his eyes the only thing that exposed his interest. It was a short, camisole type dress, made entirely out of black lace edged with dark red. Normally it would reach mid thigh on the average heighted woman, but when Sherlock pulled it over his head, it barely came to the bottom of his tight, and short, boxer briefs. The red in particular stood out boldly on Sherlock’s skin and he nodded his approval.

Licking his lips, John handed him another piece. “Make sure you’ve got that settled correctly before you tighten this.” John’s voice had grown deeper in his arousal and he was surprised to see Sherlock shiver slightly in response. Silently he slipped into the second piece, [a dark brown underbust corset](https://www.kinkyangel.co.uk/collections/steampunk-corsets/products/phaze-time-clocks-underbust-corset) with rows of four buckles to secure it in the front. He watched John’s face as he tightened the topmost buckle, which sat just below his almost hidden nipples. When John nodded his approval, he fastened the buckle and did the same with the ones remaining. By the time he was finished, his waist was cinched in just slightly more than usual, which caused the camisole to flair out almost like a slim petticoat at his hips.

“Good. You can decide on anything else for yourself.” John forced himself to turn away and focus on his own outfit. He found a straight sleeved white shirt with slight ruffles down the chest, giving it a modern pirate feel. Tucking the tails into another pair of tight black leather trousers, he scanned a rack of jackets in search of one that matched the picture in his head. He found it amidst all of the military coats and Victorian tailcoats, pulling it from the hanger and shaking out the heavy fabric. It was a worn black, long enough to hang only inches above the floor, with a high collar and wide cuffs at the wrists. The lapels across the chest were larger than usual, with three rows of braided buckles that were similar to those on Sherlock’s corset. John smoothed out the buckles on his shoulders to lay them flat as he pulled it on, hooking his fingers in the edges to survey himself in the mirror. The lapels took up almost all of the chest of the jacket, the vee of their rectangular shapes guiding the viewer’s eyes to his waist. Popping the high collar in a mirror of Sherlock, he took a deep breath and turned back to Sherlock.

Sherlock kept his additions minimal, but they added a pleasing touch to what John already put together. Sheer, thigh high stockings with red lace at the tops sat snuggly on his long legs. He found a long necklace that reached almost to his waist and looped it around his head to create the dichotomy of a tight line around his neck and a longer length down his chest. On the necklace were dark, shiny beads the same shade as the red in his camisole. To match the stockings, he wore laced gloves that reached to his elbows and made his fingers look impossibly longer.

“Very good,” John openly praised, enjoying the moment when Sherlock threw his head back at the words, smiling in clear contentment at having pleased John. Storing that note away for later, he placed his hands on his hips and nodded his chin to a stack of hats. “Find something for me. Nothing too much.”

Sherlock immediately shot to the corner, bending over to dig around through the pile. John swallowed his groan as he watched his arse swing around as he searched, forcing himself to remain where he stood. Thankfully Sherlock straightened back up quickly, holding a short velvet top hat with a pair of goggles the same shade as Sherlock’s corset sitting on the rim. John took the hat and tried it on, observing himself in the mirror. He nodded and slipped both the room key and the rope into one of his jacket pockets before heading towards the door, expecting Sherlock to follow. To his surprise, he stepped into line just behind John, staying no more than a foot or so at his back.

Niall waited in the meeting room for them with another employee, discussing a few papers the other man held. He spotted John and Sherlock and shooed him away, approaching them with a pair of raised eyebrows. “Another Western night?” he asked, looking between the two of them. John glanced at Sherlock and shrugged a shoulder.

“Yeah, but a bit different this time. How does your audience feel about a little light domination and submission?”

John thought Niall’s eyes might fall right out of his head. “Oh, John Watson, you haven’t changed a _bit_. They’ll be completely delighted, particularly with this dynamic. At this rate, I’ll have to hire you two on properly regardless of the notes just to please all the people who will want to see you two perform.”

“Let’s solve the case first, then we’ll see how things go,” John replied with a wink. Niall fanned himself as he passed through into the dressing room and John laughed before turning back to address Sherlock properly. “Anyone in particular I should talk to tonight? You have permission to speak at any time; I won’t put that condition in this time since we can’t talk to each other during the mingling anyway.”

Sherlock lifted an eyebrow at him and cleared his throat. “No, but I would prefer if we stayed together this evening. I want it to be clear that I answer only to you, even though the audience members aren’t allowed to touch us.”

“Probably a good idea. Besides, this way you can mostly observe everyone in the group with a good excuse.” John glanced down at the floor and noticed that Sherlock wore no shoes. “You forgot something.”

Following his gaze, Sherlock shrugged. “It was a conscious choice. Just make sure you don’t take off the stockings in the scene; I’d prefer not to walk around here barefoot.”

“No problem.” Internally, John laughed at the idea of removing the stockings. With the plans he had, they would add a delightful touch to the final picture of Sherlock bound and wanting. Luckily, he didn’t have long for his thoughts to lead him into dangerous territory as the door opened and the night’s audience entered.

Sherlock returned to his subtly submissive position right behind John, his head lowering slightly but his eyes gazing up through his lashes at anyone who approached him. John couldn’t help the swelling of pride he felt at Sherlock’s proper behaviour, his approval clear in the broad grin that sat on his face. Several members of the group openly gaped in surprise at their positions, obviously expecting Sherlock to be the dom to John’s sub. It wasn’t the first time John had encountered that expectation, usually by a new partner who underestimated him because of his size. Most either didn’t know or forgot that he was a captain and primed for leading, particularly for those like Sherlock who promised to be obstinate simply for the sake of it.

John placed the two of them in the middle of the room, forcing everyone’s attention onto them. He waited for the doms of the group to approach him, making sure that even they realised that he would be the one in charge that evening. It quickly became clear that they had paired off similarly to him and Sherlock, roughly half of the group adopting similar positions to Sherlock behind the rest of the members. The submissives gravitated around Sherlock to engage him in conversation, while the dominants stood around John.

Unsurprisingly, Michael was one of the first to approach John. “I knew from the start you’d be one of us, John,” he said, shooting him an exaggerated wink and openly leering at Sherlock. “A posh thing like that, he needs a bit of disciplining to get him in line, eh?”

Turning slightly to look at Sherlock, John decided to follow his instinct and wrapped an arm tightly around Sherlock’s waist. He let out a slight huff of surprise and glanced down at John’s hand on his stomach, but returned to his conversation without making John move. “You could say that,” John said to Michael, angling them both so that they could continue their conversations comfortably. “Sometimes it’s the most stubborn ones who most need a strong lesson in following orders.”

Michael laughed, slightly louder than the situation called for, and looked over his own shoulder at a slender young man who barely seemed to be paying attention to the proceedings. “At least yours does follow orders. Kit here won’t do anything I say, no matter how much I punish him.” The man, apparently Kit, rolled his eyes and sighed.

“That’s not part of the deal,” Kit muttered down at his nails, making his boredom with the entire situation clear. Michael laughed again, with a hint of sheepishness, and shifted just enough to block Kit from John’s view.

“He’s new,” Michael stage whispered conspiratorially to John, leaning into John’s space. Rather than backing down at the clear test of masculinity, John straightened his shoulders and stood his ground. “Only been dating for a few weeks. I told him he didn’t have to come tonight, but he whinged and moaned until I just had to drag him along. You know how it is.”

John started rubbing his thumb along the bottom part of Sherlock’s corset that he could reach, a reminder to him that he was there without speaking. “Oh, he whinges and moans all right, but I can get him to listen to me fairly easily. He knows I’m always doing what’s best for him.” He felt Sherlock shake with silent laughter and couldn’t help but smile.

“Oh, but you two have surely been together for ages now, with the way you act together.” Michael’s face lit up at the chance to discuss their private lives, probably hoping John would be convinced to share some interesting information. The combination of having nothing to tell and refusing to fall into the trap Michael set for him made it easy for John to literally shrug the comment off.

“I know how to read people’s feelings,” John replied simply, physically turning both himself and Sherlock to engage in different conversations. Michael thankfully didn’t press him further, though John saw the obvious disappointment in his slumped shoulders as he returned his limited attention to Kit. Despite no longer needing to remain so close, John kept his arm around Sherlock’s waist, guiding him silently through the meeting time. It wasn’t until the audience was called up for the performance that he finally let him go.

“Michael’s a bit of a prick, isn’t he?” John said as they waited to be summoned. Sherlock huffed out a small laugh and shook his head.

“Indeed. You’re aware his companion is a prostitute?”

“I figured as much. Poor kid got a shit job for the evening.”

“That depends entirely on how the next part of the show goes, don’t you think?” Sherlock winked and John’s grin turned hungry as they headed up the stairs, the two of them moving into their appropriate positions easily.

Niall must have put the tube of lube on the bed, John quickly realised when he spotted the tube that both he and Sherlock forgot to fetch beforehand. Grateful for the silent help, John led Sherlock to the side of the bed and considered him for a moment. “Kneel on the centre of the bed,” he commanded, the authoritative tone he’d used earlier returning. It was almost as though Sherlock’s knees went out from under him, he knelt so fast, and he crawled slowly on his hands and knees to where John directed him. John gave his bum a light smack as he wiggled past for his cheek, making Sherlock glance over his shoulder at him with half lidded eyes. Soon he sat back on his heels facing John, waiting patiently for his next instruction.

John slowly drew the length of rope from his jacket pocket before tossing the whole garment aside, rolling up the sleeves on his shirt once it was exposed. He knelt on the edge of the bed in front of Sherlock and went to work on the buckles of his corset, caressing Sherlock’s shoulders as he slid the whole thing off. As John tossed it away to join his jacket, Sherlock raised his arms to reach for John’s hat, freezing before touching it to wait for John’s approval. At John’s nod, the hat joined the pile and John shifted slightly closer to wrap his hands around Sherlock’s waist and give him a reassuring squeeze.

Reading John’s demands on his face silently, Sherlock reached down for the hem of his camisole. Slower than John thought possible, he dragged it up his body, the fabric just caressing his skin as it lifted up and over his head. Without his consent, John felt his hands following the fabric’s path up to Sherlock’s nipples. Gripping his pecs gently, John rubbed rough circles around both of his nipples, causing Sherlock’s head to fall back on a gasp.

John pulled away to stand quickly, causing Sherlock to sway forward in search of his fingers. He slowly blinked his eyes open to meet John’s, his pupils already enormous. John shot him a quick smile and picked up the rope, walking around the bed to crawl back in behind Sherlock. Feeling his presence behind him, Sherlock visibly relaxed, reclining fully back on his heels once more. Pulling the rope so that the ends met, John looped the ends around Sherlock’s neck to the front and set to work.

The bonding came back to John easily and he worked at a measured pace, checking with Sherlock on every tightened knot with either a glance or a squeeze to his hip or thigh. Sherlock moved with him perfectly, realising which design John had chosen quickly and predicting John’s movements. On his fifth knot down Sherlock’s front, John shuffled around to face him to work around his cock and balls. He decided not to remove Sherlock’s pants, both to preserve some of his modesty and to create additional friction against his groin. With a bit of work, he shifted Sherlock’s clothed cock and tied off the fifth knot, positioning it between his balls with Sherlock’s cock in the hole the two ends created.

He returned to Sherlock’s back to finish the pattern, both to give their audience a better show and for his own ease. Each time John had tried the rope dress design with a partner, he always found it most enjoyable for them both when he was at his partner’s back. The need to excessively touch and caress various parts of the body to make it work tended to heighten his partner’s pleasure, leaving them more than ready to continue once the bondage was complete. Once he tied and tucked away the loose ends, John knelt back slightly to survey his work. He abruptly yanked the bonds on Sherlock’s hips upwards into a better position, grinning to himself when he heard Sherlock’s surprised gasp.

When John came back around to Sherlock’s front, his grin grew even larger at what he saw. Sherlock’s mouth hung open as he panted heavily, a fine sheen of sweat on his skin. His cock had come to full hardness during the binding, its shape clear where the ropes pulled his pants tight around it. John adjusted the four diamonds on his front that the ropes created, framing them down the centre of his chest. The most attention he paid to Sherlock’s cock for the time being was to make sure the crushed sides of his pants sat properly under the rope to prevent chaffing around his groin. As for the rest of Sherlock’s upper half, John left it as it was to turn the skin a pleasing red where the rope rubbed against him as he moved.

From his reaction as John adjusted the ropes, John had a brief moment of inspiration. Wanting to make sure Sherlock would be up for it, John leaned in to run his lips along Sherlock’s collarbone, brushing over the rope and moving up to suck lightly on his neck. John forced himself to ignore the low groans deep in Sherlock’s throat and continued up to his ear. A sharp bite to the lobe ensured John had Sherlock’s full attention.

“I’m going to try something,” John whispered into his ear, rubbing at Sherlock’s quivering stomach through the diamond over his abs. “Remember your safe word. If you need it, use it. I won’t continue if I can tell you don’t like it.” Sherlock responded with a gasping nod, his hips pushing subtly forward as John danced his fingers around his sensitive stomach muscles. Hoping to tease him further, John pushed his palm down flat against Sherlock and slid it down towards his groin, stopping just before his pants. He scratched his nails lightly into the dark trail of hair that led downward from there and grinned at Sherlock’s cut off whine. “I’ll take care of everything.”

John abruptly broke off all physical contact with Sherlock, moving slightly away without warning. Sherlock swayed from the unexpected movement, his eyes blinking open to stare at John with a dazed expression. Grinning, John watched Sherlock steady himself, his hands falling to rest on the tops of his thighs as he waited for John’s next move. Just as he seemed to rediscover his equilibrium, John reached out and grabbed the opposing sides of the diamond at his waist and yanked him forward in a single harsh tug, tightening all of the other lines of rope in the process. Sherlock yelped from the sharp jabs of pain as he crashed into John’s front, the noise melting into a mewl as John attacked the opposite side of his neck from before.

As John sucked marks across Sherlock’s collarbones and neck, his hands moved constantly, tugging at random along different lines of rope. At first, Sherlock’s hands fluttered everywhere, attempting to find a place to anchor themselves that John would approve of. John noticed quickly and used both his hands to grab his wrists and pin them to the small of his back. Immediately Sherlock let out a sigh of satisfaction as he locked his hands together and held on tight. Pleased that he read Sherlock correctly, John returned to his pulling, occasionally letting the rope snap back against Sherlock’s skin. He felt how hard Sherlock’s cock was where it occasionally nudged against John’s stomach, the front of his pants half soaked from how much he was leaking. When John finally pulled away to look Sherlock over, it was to see him sagging in pleasure, his knees pushed wide apart to give John more room and his skin spotted with multiple satisfying red welts.

Keeping a hand on Sherlock’s waist to reassure him that he wasn’t going far, John clamoured around to Sherlock’s back, intent on repeating the movements there. He suspected they were giving tonight’s audience quite the show, and surprisingly John felt a shot of pride at how well Sherlock was responding. In a moment of inspiration, John snatched up the tube of lube and squirted some between Sherlock’s clasped hands. He unbuttoned his trousers with shaking hands and pulled out his own cock, guiding it into the small space between Sherlock’s hands. Sherlock caught on quickly and adjusted his grip until John’s cock could comfortably thrust in his still closed grip.

With Sherlock’s knees spread, he sat just low enough that John could hook his chin over one of his shoulders. He ran his hands slowly down Sherlock’s chest until he reached the top of his pants. Drawing Sherlock’s cock out with one hand, John felt around for the still open lube and managed to squeeze an enormous amount out into his palm and across some of the bed. He purposefully left a smear of it across Sherlock’s stomach as he guided his sticky hand to take a tight hold around Sherlock’s cock. Sherlock let out a strangled noise and his head fell back onto John’s shoulder, exposing his neck beautifully.

“You’ll come when I say so, beautiful,” John muttered in his ear, starting a brutal pace on Sherlock’s cock. Sherlock let out a series of jagged whines half lost in his panting and John felt his stomach clenching below his wrists in his attempt to hold off his orgasm. Without needing John’s encouragement, he worked on John’s cock simultaneously, tightening his hold as John thrust into them and rubbing his thumb along the slit every time they came in contact.

Sherlock turned his face to bury it in the side of John’s neck. “Please –“ he whispered, his breath hot, and John yelped as his orgasm hit him suddenly, splattering come across Sherlock’s back and the ropes. Sherlock gentled his touch as John twitched and panted through it, letting out a sigh of contentment as John grew soft in his hands. John turned his face enough to nudge noses with Sherlock, licking his lips and almost Sherlock’s as well, they were so close.

“Now you, baby,” John breathed against Sherlock’s lips, focusing his touch on the crown of Sherlock’s cock. “You’ve done so well; come for me.”

John could almost taste Sherlock’s gasp as he came, his hips jumping forward from the force of his orgasm. He muttered reassurances into his cheek and neck as he milked the orgasm from him, rubbing his stomach soothingly with his other hand. Once he was done, Sherlock slumped backward fully against John’s chest, his come covered hands flopping down to his sides. John peppered kisses across his shoulder and ran his hands up and down Sherlock’s sides as he came back to himself, completely unaware that their audience had left until one of the guards came up to stand beside the bed.

“Is he okay?” the man asked, doing his best not to stare at Sherlock. John felt a spike of protective irritation at the interruption and held Sherlock closer to his chest.

“Yeah, he’s just coming down. Give us a minute and we’ll be right down.” The man nodded and headed downstairs, leaving the two of them alone.

John shifted them around until he sat cross-legged with Sherlock curled up in his lap. Eventually Sherlock let out a contented sigh and nuzzled against John’s neck, causing John to let out a shiver he attempted to hide. “How do you feel?” John asked him quietly, running a hand up and down Sherlock’s thigh in a comforting manner. Sherlock hummed and ran his hand over the come on his stomach, effectively mixing both of them together.

“Good. That was…thank you.”

John chuckled and wrapped his arm around his waist. “Thank _you_. Normally I’d untie you now and make sure you don’t have any serious damage to your skin, but that’ll have to wait until later unless you feel some serious discomfort.”

“No, it’s fine.” Sherlock stretched and started to climb out of John’s lap. He stopped and turned large eyes on John. “Don’t go too far?”

Standing and pulling Sherlock up with him, John firmly interlocked their sticky fingers. “Of course. Whatever you need.”

Sherlock smiled shyly and wrapped his other arm around John’s upper arm, both of his grips comfortably tight. John took a moment to survey him before going down – skin a delightful pink, no obvious bleeding or broken skin, one of his stockings rolled halfway down his leg, and an expression of complete contentment on his face despite being covered in come with his cock hanging out – and straightened, grinning in pride. Regardless of whatever performance they gave, Sherlock was clearly pleased and content, and that’s what mattered most to John.

The room turned silent when they made their way downstairs, everyone stopping their conversations to turn and stare. Most of their attention was on Sherlock in particular, and John could tell he was blushing from the heat radiating off him. He squeezed his hand and Sherlock lifted his head enough to meet John’s eyes. He echoed the grin John shot at him and readily followed as John guided him back into the centre of the room.

The rest of the event passed in a blur for John. He felt even more in tune to Sherlock than usual, as though he sensed his vulnerability through the connection they created during the scene. They really didn’t need to speak, John feeling the slight trembles in Sherlock’s hands and arm when he needed him to be closer and Sherlock immediately coming back to John’s side when he noticed the uneasy turn of John’s mouth if he stepped too far away. They both let out a sigh of relief as the audience left for the evening and John immediately started to guide Sherlock to their dressing room.

Sherlock went willingly where John led him, sitting at the edge of the loveseat in the room with only a slight wince. John untied the bonds with calm efficiency, studying Sherlock’s skin underneath for any serious damage. Once the rope was completely removed and Sherlock’s pants adjusted to give him a semblance of dignity, John dug around in his jacket and pulled out a tube of ointment that he applied liberally across Sherlock’s chest and back.

“This should help with any tenderness and make sure any vulnerable spots don’t get infected,” John explained as he rubbed it in, massaging when the muscles below his skin felt tense. Once he finished, he grabbed Sherlock’s coat and wrapped it around his shoulders on his bare skin, tucking the sides in tightly. “How are you feeling, sweetheart?”

“Tired,” Sherlock mumbled. He leaned forward and let his forehead bump into John’s stomach, rubbing his face against the ruffle of his shirt. John lifted his hand and, after a brief moment of hesitation, buried his fingers into Sherlock’s curls. He massaged his scalp and Sherlock practically melted against him, his shoulders finally losing the tension they held ever since they rejoined the group. Not for the first time that night, John wished they were in the privacy of their home, where he could simply tuck Sherlock into bed and hold him as he fell asleep. Thoughts of the case had completely left John’s mind through the entire evening, until he lifted his head and glanced across at the dressing table.

Sherlock must have felt him tense and looked up, following John’s gaze. It was as though the sight flipped a switch in Sherlock and he bolted to his feet, his jacket falling carelessly onto the floor. A pocket knife with a jagged blade was stuck into the smooth wood of the tabletop, the folded note of the evening held down with it like the collection of letters Sherlock had on their mantle. John couldn’t tell if the similarity was meant as a sign or simply a coincidence, but the main point John’s mind made as he stared at it was that he recognised the knife from the accessories they’d been given by Niall at the start of the week. He remembered considering it for his costume on the first evening and passing on it for the fake guns, leaving it in one of the boxes in the dressing room where it had sat ever since. From the look of it, he doubted the blade would actually do much damage, but clearly it was sharp enough to stick into the wood and stay there.

Snatching up a tissue from the box in front of the mirror, Sherlock wrapped it around the handle and yanked it out of the wood. After folding it closed and covering it entirely with the tissue, Sherlock snatched up the letter and read it over. “Not particularly threatening, given the means of delivery,” he said before passing the note to John. He leaned down over the table to stare at the mark left by the knife and John buried his face into the paper to avoid staring at his arse.

“There’s no mention of the pin from yesterday,” John said as he scanned through it. Sherlock hummed and straightened, pushing aside the items randomly scattered around the table in search of something.

“He wouldn’t know you didn’t accept his request when he typed up the note. He makes those the day before, remember?” Before John could respond, Sherlock froze and pushed the tissue box aside, staring at the lower corner of the mirror.

Written in all caps on the mirror in a dark red shade were the words WEAR IT OR ELSE. John leaned in next to Sherlock to study the words as Sherlock ran his finger along one of the letters, sniffing his fingertip when he pulled it away.

“Guess that answers that,” John said with a sigh. From his limited knowledge, the handwriting looked similar to the handwritten note from the day before. “You said he – what makes you think that?”

“The DNA results from the ejaculate sample were male.” Sherlock turned and picked up his coat, digging around for his mobile. “Plus the writing style is distinctly more masculine in style. There isn’t much of a sample size to base that on, but given the other evidence I believe it’s a fair judgment to make.” He snapped various pictures of the writing from multiple angles before grabbing one of the makeup wipes made available for their use and scrubbing the message away.

“Lipstick?” John asked as he watched Sherlock clean it. He nodded before folding up the wipe and placing both it and the wrapped knife in his coat pocket.

“One of the ones Niall left for us in here. I recognised the shade. It was unopened until this evening and now the whole container is gone.”

“So a man came in here during the time between the audience dressing and us coming back in, found the knife and stabbed his note, then used a lipstick from the table to leave a hidden message? Quite a lot to do in a fairly short amount of time.”

“Particularly since he had to have seen you at some point in that time and notice that you weren’t wearing the pin. Which means we saw him as well.”

John mentally ran through their slim list of male suspects. “That makes it either Michael, Alec, or Jack, right?” Sherlock made a noncommittal noise and started to pull on his trousers. Following his lead, John began to dress as well and followed Sherlock out of the room and down to the office area. There they found Niall and Ian, Ian behind the computer glaring at the screen and Niall leaning against the counter with his arms crossed. When Niall spotted them, he straightened and his face brightened hopefully.

“We found another note,” Sherlock confirmed, deflating Niall’s enthusiasm. He slumped back onto the desk with a sigh and ran a hand through his hair. “I wouldn’t worry yourself overly, however – I believe we’re close to uncovering the culprit.”

Niall perked up at that. “Thank God. Great job tonight, by the way – you two really are spectacular.” Behind him, Ian grumbled something and slouched further down toward the computer screen. Niall shot him a frown but neither of them said anything further.

“We’ll be on our way,” Sherlock continued, seemingly indifferent to Ian and Niall’s silent conversation. “Research to do for tomorrow, investigations, all that.”

“Of course. Have a good evening, John, Sherlock.” With a wave, the two of them headed out into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The link in the fic is to the corset that inspired Sherlock's look. Also a big old shout out to this website https://www.theduchy.com/karada/ for information on bondage - it is super fascinating and very informative with good descriptions and visuals for learning about all of this stuff. I have gained so much knowledge I didn't expect from writing this fic (I tried to make that an actual link and failed I'M SORRY just copy and paste)
> 
> Edit: also yes I did try to post this just as AO3 was down nice job me


	5. Day Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock seek each other out for comfort after their emotional scene. The next day, Sherlock gets particularly creative, John possibly pushes things too far, and their culprit loses their temper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay a couple of notes before we continue:
> 
> 1\. Please remember that not every tag relates to every chapter. If you are reading it as I am posting, the newest tags will correspond with the posted chapter. If you are reading it after, the tags go in order by the chapters.
> 
> 2\. Be conscious of what you are saying in the comments. I have received multiple comments so far that are graphic in detail and made me feel very uncomfortable. Keep in mind that while you as the reader are consenting to what you are reading with the warnings of the tags, I do not have that luxury and go into the comments without knowing what they contain. Because of this issue, I have had to turn on commenting approval. As long as the comment isn't graphic, you will be totally fine, and while I LOVE comments, please just be aware that it is another human being on the other side of this fic and that I might not feel comfortable with what you are saying.
> 
> 3\. Please do not use the comments to send requests. This fic is already fully written and because of that, I do not plan on changing the contents due to requests left in the comments. This is mostly just a general courtesy thing - if the writer doesn't specifically ask for requests, ask them first before jumping right in. I'm much more likely to be supportive of it then.
> 
> OKAY. I'm sorry I had to get lectury on y'all but it was for all of our own good. Just use common courtesy, think before you comment, and we'll all be good. I want to have a good time with this too and it's hard to do that when comments make me uncomfortable! I love y'all and want to keep going with this story but stuff like that makes me want to stop. Anyway, ON WITH THE FIC. There are a couple of links included in this chapter to the things I found on the internet that inspired certain aspects of it.

The moment they got home, Sherlock disappeared into his bedroom. John’s shoulders slumped as he threw himself onto the couch, blowing out a long breath and rubbing a hand through his hair. While Sherlock seemed to have recovered from their scene relatively easily, John could tell he was feeling the side effects of being a dom without the usual sub drop care he was used to giving. He knew every sub experienced their drop differently, but given how he acted immediately after, John thought that perhaps that evening would lead to the intimacy he desired. Regardless, John craved Sherlock’s skin, not for anything sexual, but simply to be able to comfort them both after an emotional scene and reassure himself that Sherlock was okay.

When John began to feel like he was going to crawl out of his skin, he jumped back to his feet and headed towards the shower. He turned the water up as hot as he could handle it and scrubbed the remnants of Sherlock off his skin, leaving him a bit pinker than usual but far more calm. He tried not to think of Sherlock as he went up to his room and changed into pyjamas, and failed. Sitting on the edge of his bed to pull up his trousers, he found himself staring off at the blank wall across from him, lost in the memory of how Sherlock’s flushed skin felt against his calloused fingers. When he caught his left hand clenching into a fist as his cock perked up in interest, he shook himself roughly, finished dressing, and headed back downstairs to find food.

Sherlock sat in his usual chair at the kitchen table when John made his way down, the knife they’d found on the table before him. Without realising it, the tension John had felt since they found the note seemed to flow out of him in a sigh. Apparently the visual reassurance that Sherlock was fine, as well as his physical presence, was enough for the dom in John to calm for now. He went to the fridge and pulled out leftovers from the night before, setting it to heat up before starting on tea. He automatically made two cups and slid one across to Sherlock, sitting down across from him to watch him as he ate.

“How’s your skin feel?” John asked, breaking the comfortable silence. Sherlock picked up his fingerprinting kit and used the brush to apply a bit of powder to the handle, letting out a hum of acknowledgement.

“Fine. A bit raw, but that lotion of yours should help with that. You did a good job of making sure the ropes didn’t break the skin.”

“Good. You should apply another layer of it before bed and in the morning just to make sure.” John watched him for a moment, debating how to ask his next question. “How do you feel? The drop, I mean.”

Sherlock looked up from his work, his face scrunching up in thought. “I…a bit different. From usual. That’s why I came out here. Usually I want to be alone, but I felt…itchy. I still do, if I’m being perfectly honest.”

“Can I try something?” At Sherlock’s nod, John stood and held out his hand to Sherlock, ignoring his food for the time being. Surprisingly, Sherlock pushed away the knife willingly and took John’s hand, following him into the living room. John brought him over to the sofa, situating a pillow against one of the arms and sitting down to lean against it. He opened his legs to create a small space and patted the area, silently encouraging Sherlock to sit. After a brief moment, Sherlock climbed up and curled himself into a ball, his back against the couch and his head resting on John’s chest. John immediately wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s back, one of his hands coming up to play with the wisps of hair at the back of his neck.

They remained silent for a long span of time, just enjoying being close to one another. John thought Sherlock might have drifted off until he huffed out a warm sigh and rubbed his cheek on John’s shirt. “This is nice,” he said quietly, his voice rumbling against John’s chest. Letting out his own sigh, John nodded, and rested his chin on the top of Sherlock’s head.

“It is. I wasn’t sure if it was something you’d want after a scene.”

“I didn’t either, honestly. No one’s ever offered.”

John’s brows furrowed as he moved his hand down to rub Sherlock’s shoulders lightly. “How did they usually help you down from your drop?”

“They didn’t.” John’s breath caught in his throat and he swallowed, unconsciously holding Sherlock tighter. He didn’t press any further and Sherlock didn’t offer up any more information, but he didn’t try to move from their cosy position. John felt himself start to drift off and didn’t fight it, happily falling asleep with Sherlock cradled in his arms.

The next time he blinked his eyes open, he was lying fully down on the couch, curled up on his side with a blanket wrapped around him. From the faint light at the windows, he could tell it was still fairly early, and he stretched with a groan before curling back up to doze a bit longer. He woke up properly a few hours later and stretched as he sat up, groaning as his back creaked. Scratching his neck, he meandered into the kitchen to make tea, spotting Sherlock at the table instantly.

His eyes darted up to look at John before returning to his computer screen. He remained silent as John started his tea and disappeared into the bathroom, coming out somewhat more alert as he went to start his breakfast and clear away the leftovers from the night before. Once he had sat with his drink and his food, Sherlock snapped the lid of his laptop closed and folded his hands over the top of it to stare across at John.

“Morning,” John said before taking a bite of his toast. Sherlock waited for him to swallow before he spoke.

“We’ll need to discuss tonight’s scene,” he said without preamble, studying John’s face. Nodding, John took a sip of tea and calmly continued eating.

“Should do. I’ve got a few things of my own, but did you have something specific in mind?”

Sherlock’s lip twisted in thought. “Originally I wanted to use the pin tonight, but I think it might be best to save it for tomorrow. We’ll have to decide on a different theme for tonight first.”

John chewed thoughtfully and swallowed. “Something with gears, maybe? Just…mechanical? I’m not sure what other sort of steampunk themes we could do that we haven’t done yet.”

Sherlock brightened with a nod. “I’ll take care of it. I’d be more comfortable using my own toys anyway, so I’ll bring an assortment. Is there anything you object to doing?”

“Not off the top of my head, but I’ll let you know when I see what you’ve got. I’m sure whatever you’ll want to use will be fine.” Smiling, Sherlock nodded again and returned to his study of the knife.

John left him to his work. He needed to run a few errands that day anyway and welcomed the distraction. The case hadn’t given him much of a chance to process what had been happening over the last few days, but the familiar monotony of a trip to the shops allowed him the chance to simply think. He never meant to use pet names during their scenes, but looking back John realised that he’d been using them all the same. In the heat of the moment, his naturally nurturing nature made him want to ensure that his partner felt cherished, and the same was certainly true for Sherlock. He had no way of knowing for sure how Sherlock felt about it, or even if he noticed the way John cared for him during the scenes, but he hadn’t said anything against it so far. John briefly wondered if it was because he enjoyed it, but tampered down on the thought almost immediately. It wouldn’t do for him to get his hopes up only for it all to come to an end on Friday.

When it came time for them to head to the studio, John vowed to simply do whatever it was that Sherlock needed him to do and enjoy what he had for the moment. His heart hollowed at the thought of the newfound intimacy ending, but he forced the feelings aside in favour of devoting himself to Sherlock’s use. While the intimacy certainly hadn’t helped John get over his love of Sherlock, he wouldn’t let it change anything about their relationship if he could help it. If Sherlock could manage to get through the week without falling prey to the tangles of affection and love, then so could John.

Niall wasn’t in the waiting room when they arrived. Ian strolled out at the sound of their arrival and gave them a curt hello before situating himself behind the computer as usual. John caught Sherlock staring at him a moment longer than usual and bristled, guiding him up to their dressing room a bit more gruffly than he normally would. Sherlock didn’t react to the change in demeanor and simply followed silently, setting the bag he brought with him on the dressing table once the door shut behind them.

Instantly Sherlock headed for the racks of clothing, flipping through them quickly and silently. John watched him in silence, happy to let Sherlock take the lead after last night. He found whatever it was he was looking for and thrust it behind him without looking for John to take. Shaking it out, John studied it and his eyebrows rose in slight surprise. The waistcoat was worn, skillfully patched in a few places and artfully torn in others. The clasps on the front had dull bronze gears instead of buttons and the neckline dipped low, almost to the top of John’s abs. Wide lapels on both sides spread it out further, revealing a large portion of the chest of whoever wore it. It would be tight on John’s broad shoulders, but he suspected that was an intentional choice on Sherlock’s part.

While John began to undress, Sherlock collected more items that he set on the floor for John. He pulled on brown trousers with rips similar to the waistcoat and barely managed to squeeze into the tall boots decorated with matching gears running up the sides. Standing and rocking on his heels to test the boots, he looked up at Sherlock and held up the waistcoat.

“Shirt?” he asked. Sherlock shook his head and waved a hand at him while trying to shuffle into a pair of tight trousers.

“Just put it on and fasten it. It’s part of the aesthetic.” John reluctantly did as he was told, the rough looking material surprisingly soft against his skin. The vee of it reached halfway down his chest and almost to his stomach, while the wide lapels only barely covered his nipples. He situated the belt and gun holsters he’d chosen for the first day around his waist and glanced around for gun accessories. Sherlock only gave him one during his clothing search and he went to the box to grab another. Shooting up an arm, Sherlock stopped him before he reached it.

“I have something for the other,” he said, nodding at the empty holster. John waited for Sherlock to finish dressing, trying not to watch and failing.

He also wore a waistcoat, although very different from John’s. Rather than the dark brown of John’s, his was a black that been worn to the point where it looked almost grey. It cinched at the small of his back with three rows of charcoal ribbons and he left it hanging open at his sides rather than closing it with the line of gold clock face buttons. John realised quickly why he chose that particular design choice – as he pulled the sides straight when he stood, John spotted something shiny glinting from Sherlock’s nipples. On closer examination, John realised they were [nipple clamps](https://www.etsy.com/listing/700497530/non-piercing-steampunk-nipple-dangles-on?show_sold_out_detail=1&ref=anchored_listing&frs=1), the same gold as his buttons with heavy looking gears dangling slightly below the clamps themselves. The skin around his nipples already looked flushed red, confirming that the gears were most likely even heavier than John first thought. Sherlock finished belting his own holster, already equipped with a fake gun on one side and rolled length of rope on the other, and moved to open his bag.

After digging around a bit, he pulled out a medium length object by its handle and passed it over to John. On first inspection, John thought it was simply a fancier version of the fake guns Niall provided for them. When he properly studied it, he had to swallow his gasp. The handle was designed to look realistic to an antique style hand gun, with a bronze handle and four rows of decorative gold rings leading to an intricate, lace-like design between them. Rather than the usual barrel and muzzle, however, it had a long, slender dildo, completely clear and nestled comfortably into the cylinder. John wrapped his fingers around the impressive base of the dildo, guiding his hand slowly along the various ridges down to the slightly bulbous tip.

“Will that be too big for you?” Sherlock asked, pulling John out of his shocked silence. Realising Sherlock meant to use it on him, John swallowed and shook his head.

“No, that’ll be fine. But where in the _hell_ did you find a [steampunk style dildo gun](https://www.laweekly.com/steampunk-dildos-by-lady-clankington-infernal-devices/)?”

“I made it.” At John’s silence, Sherlock spotted his stunned expression and rolled his eyes. “I already had the dildo and it was fairly simple to purchase the gun online. A bit of engineering and we have that. It was only the work of an afternoon.”

“You…did this today?” When Sherlock nodded, John let out a puff of laughter. “I shouldn’t be surprised. What else do you have tucked away in there?”

Sherlock’s lips curled into a smirk. “You’ll just have to wait and see.”

John let out a laugh that verged on hysterical and tucked the dildo gun into his left holster, willing the erection that was trying to show its interest to calm. Sherlock zipped up the bag and stashed it under the dressing table before leading the way out the door. They found Niall sprawled in a chair in the meeting room, his head resting back on the wall and a hand covering his face. John nudged one of his feet with the toe of his shoe and Niall let his arm drop with a sigh.

“Sorry, just…yeah, sorry,” he said as he pushed himself heavily to his feet. Some of his usual enthusiasm returned as he looked them over and he cracked a small grin. “Damn, boys. Subtle but nicely done. Is that – “

Pulling out Sherlock’s handcrafted creation, John posed with it and winked. “A dildo? Yep. You can thank this one for it.”

Shaking his head, Niall replied, “Every time I think you two can’t surprise me more, you prove me wrong. So we’re going with gears tonight?”

“Anything mechanical is acceptable,” Sherlock said as he fiddled with his trousers, shifting them down just enough to show a hint of his hipbones and the hair leading to his groin. Both John and Niall forced their eyes off of him, Niall shooting John an apologetic smile. With a bit more haste than usual, he headed off for the public dressing room and left them alone. John fastened the dildo back in place and managed to shove his hands into his back pockets to keep them from fidgeting.

“So what are we doing tonight? With the suspects, I mean,” he rushed to reassure when Sherlock turned to him with a scowl. His face smoothed out as he considered.

“Leave the suspects to me. Your job is to distract the other ones so that I can speak with the three of them separately.”

“Easier said than done. This group flocks to you like flies on honey.”

“Don’t sell yourself so short. Particularly after last night’s performance, I’m sure you won’t have too much issue holding the group’s attention.” John felt his face heat at the reminder and briefly mourned the fact that he wouldn’t be allowed to manhandle Sherlock as much tonight. He hadn’t intended on being so physical with him during the meeting hours, but once they both fell into their respective roles so easily, it happened naturally. John always was fairly possessive of his partners even when it was just the two of them, so putting him in a room full of relative strangers would bring that out even more.

Soon enough the audience entered the room and Sherlock disappeared into the shadows, leaving John alone in the middle of everything. At first he tried to keep an eye on where he thought Sherlock was hidden, protective of him as always. His attempts to amuse everyone at the same time stopped him from giving his search his full attention and soon he was lost to the dark edges of the room. When the announcement came for them to proceed to the performance area, Sherlock appeared at his shoulder and John let out the breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

“All right?” John asked once the final audience member headed upstairs. Sherlock frowned down at him.

“Yes, I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I dunno.” John clenched his hands into fists and shook them a bit when he released them. “Just feel. Weird. On edge. A bit like I’m being watched.”

“Well, you will be soon.” He rolled his eyes at Sherlock’s smirk. “Have you felt this way on any of the other nights?”

“No, which is why it’s weird. It feels like I’m on patrol and someone’s following us.” Sherlock glanced up into one of the corners of the room as they headed towards the stairs, where John thought one of the security cameras sat. He didn’t say anything as they entered the staged area, however, and John attempted to shake off his uncomfortable feeling and focus on the performance.

Sherlock placed his hand on the small of John’s back as he guided John to lay on the bed. John noted immediately that there were no signs of lube on the freshly made bed and felt a brief flare of uncertainty. As Sherlock guided him back to rest his head on the pillows, though, he let out a breath of relief as he saw Sherlock reach into one of his trouser pockets and pull out a small tube.

“Your own lube? I’m honoured.” John swallowed when he noticed that the container said WARMING in bold red letters across the top.

“Niall’s selection is adequate, but I have something a bit more specific in mind,” Sherlock responded quietly. Setting it to the side for the moment, Sherlock knelt on the bed and began to efficiently strip off his trousers. He leaned over John to balance as he shuffled out of each leg individually and, to John’s surprise, the group of onlookers made small noises of surprise. Despite what they were watching, their audience remained fairly silent for the most part every other night and John raised an eyebrow at Sherlock as he straightened. Sherlock’s only response was a broad grin as he swung himself over John, arse in John’s face, and started to work on his trousers as well. John quickly realised what caused their surprise and openly groaned.

Settled comfortably between Sherlock’s cheeks was [a decent sized gem](https://i.etsystatic.com/13927999/r/il/660dac/1287272988/il_794xN.1287272988_lzt2.jpg), round and a shiny gold with a large silver gear in the middle. He must have put the plug in while they were at home and John bit his lips to stop himself from burying his face in his bum at the thought of Sherlock making the trip to the studio with it shoved into him. Instead, he lifted his hands to seize his cheeks in his palms, pushing them together to watch the gem shift deeper into him. He heard Sherlock gasp and fumble with John’s holster and huffed out a small laugh of satisfaction.

Once Sherlock had removed John’s holster, trousers, and pants, he clamoured off of him and grabbed the lube. With his other hand, he fumbled for the dildo, clicking the lube open and squeezing a line of it down the clear glass. He tossed it on John’s other side and focused on covering his hands in lube as he situated both of them to his taste. John found himself with his legs spread wide and Sherlock between them, his cock hanging half hard under the low slung holster he still wore. Glancing up at John for confirmation, he lowered his hands towards John’s midsection.

Rather than wrapping his hands around his cock as John expected, Sherlock trailed a finger down from his belly button into the coarse hair of his groin. Almost instantly, the lube started to warm his skin, a pleasant tingling that made Sherlock’s light touch feel like small licks of fire. John undulated with a groan, trying fruitlessly to convince Sherlock to move lower. Sherlock acquiesced to an extent, dancing his fingers across John’s hips and down to the crease where thigh met groin. He drew circles into John’s inner thighs, spreading the lines of heat with purpose down towards his cheeks. Without warning, Sherlock grasped the lower parts of his arse firmly in both hands and pulled, effectively bringing John’s arse up into his lap.

Once he settled John comfortably, he squeezed more lube onto both his hands and the dildo. As soon as his hands were covered, he moved his focus back to John’s arse, carefully prying open his cheeks with one while the other circled around his hole. John choked on a gasp as the warming spread across the skin of his bottom. Sherlock’s fingers felt like tiny, teasing flames as they smoothed around his hole, covering all of the area around the small opening with the lube. When he finally pushed a finger in, John threw his head back and clenched his teeth around a moan. He had always imagined that Sherlock would be good at this, from his fingers’ long lengths and their flexibility from playing violin. The fact that he was now being proven right was almost more than he could comprehend at the moment.

Sherlock easily worked one finger into him and moved on to two, an expression of focus similar to when he was close to the end of a case on his face. John centred all of his attention on watching Sherlock’s expressions, hoping to calm his raging body by focusing on him instead. It worked until Sherlock’s finger brushed John’s prostate. John let out the groan he’d been holding and Sherlock smiled in triumph, watching John as he massaged the gland carefully. His hips jumped up with every shift of Sherlock’s hand, rubbing John’s cockhead just barely against Sherlock’s stomach every time. Each movement was just enough to tease John a little bit more, causing him to let out barely audible whines each time it happened.

“One more?” Sherlock whispered into John’s neck, wiggling the two fingers inside him. John swallowed and shook his head, fighting to find his voice as he grabbed at Sherlock’s shoulders.

“No,” he finally gasped out. “Now. Wanna feel it – “ He broke down into a high keening groan as Sherlock abruptly pulled his fingers free. Sherlock shushed him and placed a reassuring kiss on John’s neck as he fumbled for the dildo. John swallowed down the stream of affectionate words that threatened to come out at the movement, afraid it would be too much and make Sherlock stop. All words flew from his head anyway as he felt Sherlock push the smooth head of the dildo against his hole.

“All right?” Sherlock panted, adjusting his slippery hold on the handle to grasp it tighter. All John could do was nod frantically and try to push down on it. Sherlock laughed softly and placed his free hand on John’s hip to hold him steady. “Oh no. Tonight we go at my pace.” Moving slower than John thought possible, he began to guide it in and out of John inch by inch, making sure he wasn’t too far in before pulling it back out again. The pace was maddening and John was almost at the point of begging when he suddenly shoved it all in to the hilt.

John panted into Sherlock’s hair, digging his fingers into the skin of his shoulders as he fought for breath. The dildo wasn’t too large, but John had purposefully stopped Sherlock’s careful preparations early so he could experience the fullness and sting of something that didn’t quite fit. The pain, what little there was, faded quickly and was replaced with simply satisfying fullness. John wiggled a bit and his inner thigh brushed the side of Sherlock’s cock. His eyes, which John didn’t notice had closed, snapped open as he gasped and met John’s own.

They silently came to a decision together, John reaching up to rub the sensitive tip of Sherlock’s cock just as Sherlock pulled the dildo almost free and shoved it harshly back into him. They gasped simultaneously into each other’s mouths, John’s head thrown back while Sherlock towered over him. Setting up a bruising pace, they nearly battled each other to see who would come first, both competitively trying to outlast the other. Sherlock had the advantage, however, and managed to knock John onto his back and push his hand away. John didn’t entirely mind, since the movement brought the dildo deeper into him, and all thoughts of anything other than coming fell away the moment Sherlock’s free hand wrapped around him. It only took a half dozen tight pulls before John was coming between them, coating both his and Sherlock’s fronts.

Slumping back onto the bed, John tried to catch his breath. As he ran a hand through the mess on his stomach, he blinked his eyes open to stare up at Sherlock. His eyes were blown to the point where he couldn’t even see the colour in them and the subdued lighting turned his flushed skin almost golden. He was panting just as hard as John, though his cock hung tall and heavy between his legs. John made to wrap a hand around it, but Sherlock reached down to grab his hand before he reached it.

“No,” he muttered, leaning down toward him and apparently thinking better of it. Instead, he pulled John back up into a sitting position, shuffling back on his knees to give him room. “Orgasm denial. It was on your list.”

“I didn’t expect you to want to,” John said, his eyes darting from his face to his flushed cock. “So you’re just…not?”

Sherlock nodded stiffly, his lips pinched into a tight line. John breathed out a sigh and nodded reluctantly, following him as he moved to sit at the end of the bed. Their audience had already started to file out again when Sherlock pulled John up, leaving the two of them alone for a brief moment. John could tell Sherlock was trying to bring his breathing back under control, but regardless his cock stayed just as hard, hanging from under his holster like an absurdly hot third weapon. John couldn’t help his burst of nervous laughter and Sherlock turned wide eyes on him.

“Sorry. Just. This is a bit ridiculous, isn’t it?” Sherlock only smiled and pushed himself up on wobbly feet, passing the messy dildo back to John to secure in his holster. John watched him try and rub some of the excess lube off on his bare legs, but John could tell from the way they shook that he could feel the effects of the warming lube just as much as John. It almost felt like he could still feel Sherlock’s fingers on and in him, the warming lube wearing off slightly but staying just enough to remind John of what they had done. Hiding his wince as he felt the after effects of the slightly rougher than usual treatment, he followed Sherlock to standing and they made their way downstairs.

As difficult as it was for John to pay attention to anything but Sherlock on the other nights, this one was even worse. He hardly listened to the conversation around him, finding himself instead focusing on watching Sherlock and checking to see if he was still hard. Every time John glanced over, he found Sherlock watching him too, and he clearly was still feeling the effects of their scene. It took all of John’s willpower not to waltz across the room and finish Sherlock right there, to hell with both the case and Niall’s rules. Normally he would have been acutely aware of his own bare bottom half, but he was so focused on Sherlock that he didn’t have the time to worry about himself.

Finally Niall showed the group out and the two of them were left alone again. Sherlock headed towards the hallway leading to their dressing room, but John stopped him before he had the chance to go far. He spun Sherlock until his back slammed against the wall beside the door, his mouth gaping as he blinked down at John in shock. Before he could stop him, John grabbed the back of Sherlock’s thighs and yanked them up, forcing Sherlock to wrap his legs around John as he dangled in the air. Sherlock gasped and wrapped his arms around John’s neck, his head falling back against the wall with a dull thunk.

“Your turn now,” John muttered as he adjusted his balance and brought one of his hands up to Sherlock’s cock. He squeezed it around the base just a little too tight and Sherlock whined, his Adam’s apple bobbing close to John’s mouth as he swallowed. “You’ve been tempting me for the last hour now, you gorgeous thing, and I deserve to see you come apart.”

John set a harsh pace, the only thing slicking his way Sherlock’s strongly weeping cock. Sherlock couldn’t keep his hands still, grabbing at whatever parts of John he could reach as he pushed into John’s fist. John had a firm grip on Sherlock’s arse, relishing every flex of movement as Sherlock sought his release. His nails accidentally scratched the gem of the plug and John growled, moving his hand impossibly faster. It only took the work of a few minutes before he was coming mostly on his own chest, John’s name pushing out from between his lips in warning. John guided him through the orgasm, peppering kisses across his neck and shoulder to keep the praises he wished to bestow on him in check. Once Sherlock blinked back into awareness, John helped guide his legs carefully back to the floor.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Sherlock said quietly as he caught his breath. John still stood close in his space, bracketing him against the wall with his body.

“I know. I wanted to.” John tilted his chin up to meet his eyes and grinned. “Part of orgasm denial is the satisfaction for both of you when you’re finally allowed to come.” Sherlock smiled weakly back but otherwise didn’t respond. Following his instinct, John grabbed Sherlock’s hand and entwined their fingers, a proper, confident hold neither of them had used so far. Sherlock didn’t object and followed silently as John guided them into the dressing room.

They only got as far as the doorway before they both froze. While on all the other nights, the only sign of an intruder was the messages, tonight it looked like a storm had passed through while they were gone. All of the clothes on the racks were strewn across the floor, the accessory boxes had been tipped over until all of their contents were covering the entire floor, and the makeup on the dressing table had been opened and scattered. At the centre of attention was the mirror, which looked like someone punched it in a rage. Broken shards branched out from the middle of it, where some of the glass had fallen to scatter among the makeup. Covering the bare centre was a post it note that held two underlined words: WEAR IT.

“Well,” John said as he took in the chaos. “I think our suspect is getting a bit impatient.”

Sherlock released John’s hand and immediately darted towards their clothes and his bag, which looked like they had been left alone. He knelt down on one knee to rummage through the pile, giving John a flash of the gem plug he still wore. John swallowed his moan and went to the sink to wash his hands, trying not to think about what he’d hoped would happen with that plug later. After what just happened in the hallway, he thought perhaps something more could come from that look of longing he spotted in Sherlock’s eyes as he set him on the floor, but he was reminded that it was all for the case when they found the mess. As he scrubbed Sherlock’s come off his hands, though, he felt a wave of shame at using Sherlock just for his own satisfaction. Resolving himself to focus only on the case, he turned back to face Sherlock and see what he’d found.

During John’s brief moment of panic, Sherlock had managed to change back into his normal clothes. He passed John’s over to him without looking up, pulling on a pair of gloves as soon as his hands were free and picking his way over to the dressing table. While John dressed, he picked at the disaster on the table, pulling out the bits of fallen glass for one forensic bag while the makeup was sorted into another. As soon as John was dressed, he pointed a thumb at the door as he backed up to it, already hating himself for his cowardliness.

“I’ll go let Niall know what happened,” he said, leaving the room without waiting for a response. Niall was in the main dressing room finishing up the nightly cleanup and his head shot up in surprise at John’s entrance.

“John?” He looked behind him, expecting to see Sherlock and growing even more surprised when he didn’t see him there. “Where’s Sherlock?”

“Investigating the mess our culprit left in the dressing room,” John explained. “You’d best get in there and see if anything’s missing.”

“Oh Jesus.” He dropped the shirt he held and rushed for the door, pausing at the entrance. “Are you coming?”

“Nah, he’ll be in his mind palace figuring shit out by this point. Don’t let him keep you here too late, yeah? I’m heading home…headache, not feeling well…”

Niall must have read the disappointment on his face. “John…”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Niall,” John interrupted with a wave. Hurrying to leave before Niall could question him further, John nearly ran down the stairs and out the door.


	6. Day Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John apologises to Sherlock for his rash behaviour from the night before and they head out for the final night of their performance. The culprit is finally revealed and John ends up with more questions than when they began.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a link in this chapter, which leads to the inspiration for John and Sherlock's corsets. This one's a shorter chapter BUT the last one should make up for it. I hope you enjoy!

John went straight to bed when he got home, lacking the energy to make any dinner or even shower. Thankfully the stress that had been keeping him up late every night since the case started was beaten out by pure exhaustion. As a result, he woke early and well rested, albeit starving. The sun had only just started to light up the sky when he snuck downstairs, praying Sherlock was in his room. When John couldn’t find him in any of the main areas of the flat and spotted his bedroom door closed, he assumed he was sleeping. Sighing in relief, he went into the bathroom to finally shower off the come, lube, and other remnants of the night before.

Hoping to further avoid meeting Sherlock before he was ready, John went down to Speedy’s as soon as he was clean for an early breakfast. He could only delay himself there for so long, however, and once his coffee was gone and his food nothing but crumbs, he headed to Regents for a walk. With any luck, the time alone and fresh air would help him figure out what to do next.

John knew Sherlock cared for him, even before this case started. He showed it in his own ways; waiting for John at cabs, making tea when he got home from the clinic, matching his pace as they walked through the city. He made it clear from the start that he wasn’t interested in anything romantically and John respected that. If Sherlock changed his mind, John would leave it up to him to say something about it. The way he acted with John during their scenes, however, made him doubt if Sherlock even knew what he wanted. He felt the care and affection in Sherlock’s touch, and saw the warmth and appreciation in the way he looked and spoke to him. John got caught up in the emotions of sex the night before and went beyond the confines of the case and scene, but in the light of day he wasn’t sure how Sherlock actually felt about it. He had ample opportunity to stop John and hadn’t, but John was frustrated about what exactly that meant. One thing was for sure, though – he owed Sherlock an apology.

Pausing to lean against a tree, John pulled out his mobile and brought up his messages with Sherlock. He tapped a finger on the back of it in thought for a moment before deciding what to say. _I went overboard last night in the hall. I should have made sure you really were okay with it beforehand. I’m sorry and I hope you can forgive me._

Before he even had the chance to put the mobile back in his pocket, it pinged with a response. _I would have mentioned if I objected. I trust you, as I have said before. There’s nothing to forgive._ John breathed out a laugh and went to reply, but Sherlock beat him to it. _At Bart’s for the day. Will meet you at the studio tonight._ Feeling lighter than he had when he left the flat, he sent Sherlock back a confirmation and turned to go back to the flat.

In his worry over the night before, John managed to forget what they would be doing on their final night of the exhibit. While excited about the evening’s scene, he couldn’t help the disappointment that it would be the last time he would be intimate with Sherlock. Unless Sherlock indicated after tonight that he would like to continue their unconventional arrangement outside of the case, John would have to return to a life without touching Sherlock’s soft skin and hearing his sounds of pleasure. Despite this, John found he didn’t regret agreeing to it. Any chance he had to be close to Sherlock and give him pleasure was a gift, and he would accept whatever amount of it he was allowed.

Before he left the flat that night, John found where Sherlock stored the military pin after they found it and pocketed it. Whether he did choose to wear it or not, he suspected Sherlock had plans for it and wanted it that night. He still had no idea who their culprit was, or if Sherlock had any clear idea, but as usual he decided to lay his trust in Sherlock. He would reveal their suspect when he felt ready, and certainly wouldn’t give up on the case until it was solved.

Sherlock was already at the studio when John arrived. Wordlessly they went to their dressing room, managing to bypass Niall and any members of his team. As soon as the door closed, John pulled out the pin and held it out for Sherlock, who grinned broadly.

“Excellent. I brought the outfits we’ll be using tonight.” Sherlock handed him a bag that felt particularly light and John had a brief flair of worry. Sherlock did an exceptional job whenever he chose their outfits so far, though, so John started to undress and pulled out his final costume.

It came in [three different pieces](https://i.pinimg.com/474x/79/8d/84/798d84eb0333757f8924fceca2865398.jpg), all made of a silky black fabric with gold decorations. The bottoms were simply a pair of very short shorts, smaller than John would even wear at the beach. The edges were trimmed with golden bands, with two lines running down the outside of both legs. John was most surprised by the other two pieces, which he quickly realised he would need help putting on. One seemed to be similar to the underbust corset Sherlock wore a few days ago, coming up to a curved point just below the bottom of John’s breastbone. It would overlap the shorts slightly once John put it on, the curved vee of the bottom mimicking the top. It also had gold trimmed edges, with buckles fastened with shiny buttons down each side and a twisting gold vine embroidery down the centre connecting the sides to the front. The top looked like a cropped jacket, another gold trimmed buckle for a front clasp and sleeves that went to his shoulders but no further. The high neck led to more buckles on the shoulders and John suspected it would sit just high enough on him to show a few inches of skin and hint at what was below.

John managed the jacket and shorts on his own, but he held the corset in front of him with a frown. Sherlock snuck up behind him and grabbed it, making John jump as he carefully settled it on his midsection and pulled it up to wrap around him. “I won’t make it too tight,” he muttered close to John’s ear as he started to fasten the row of clasps at his back. John forced himself to breathe normally as Sherlock’s hands carefully traced down to the bottom, finally pulling the sides down once he was finished to make sure it was straight. The corset felt pleasantly snug, enough that John would likely have small red markings on his skin once it came off but not enough that he couldn’t move or breathe as usual. Sherlock came around to his front and pinned the crest on the jacket just over where his scar sat underneath.

Sherlock took a step back and nodded his approval, giving John a chance to look him over as well. He wore a full corset in matching black and gold, his shoulders bare and his waist pulled tighter over his own shorts than John’s. His corset had finely stitched golden thread running vertically at intervals down the fabric. His own gold trimmed buckles, with five matching buttons holding them secure, ran in even lines across his chest and stomach. The top was made for someone with a flat chest but the original design obviously was made with breasts in mind, coming to two rounded points just below his collarbones and somehow making them even more prominent than usual.

“Seriously, where do you keep finding all this?” John demanded, waving between the two of them. “This trim is exactly the same! And mine fits me perfectly! You couldn’t have just had this laying around.”

Shrugging, Sherlock averted his eyes. “I had mine already. The same person who made it was available and made yours on rush demand for this evening. I had a particular aesthetic in mind after we found the pin.”

Trying to hide his grin, John crossed his arms over his chest. “And you just so happened to have my measurements?”

Sherlock lifted his head to shoot back a reply and caught the amused expression John couldn’t conceal. He rolled his eyes as he made his way over to the mirror. “I’m a genius, John, it wasn’t as thought I couldn’t give an educated estimate.”

John barked out a laugh and started going through the pile of boots, looking for something to match the rest of his outfit. When he straightened, a pair of comfortable black boots on his feet, he found Sherlock adjusting his own shiny black shoes. They were a pair of midnight pumps, the sole peeking from behind the skinny heel a bright gold to match the rest of their clothes, and fit him so perfectly that they also had to be custom made. John barely managed to drag his eyes up the miles of legs they seemed to give Sherlock to reach his face, where he met another mouthwatering surprise. His lips were painted a dark red, the same shade their culprit used a few days before. The colour only enhanced his already beautiful lips, and John wanted to kiss all signs of it off him to watch him put the lipstick back on again.

“Our suspect will definitely be pleased tonight,” John said, swallowing around his suddenly dry mouth. Sherlock only smirked and headed for the door, forcing John to clench his teeth to contain any noises he might make at the sight of his bum swaying from the heels.

When they met Niall in the meeting room, he was pacing across part of the open floor, one hand rubbing at the back of his neck. He seemed to be muttering to himself and didn’t even notice Sherlock and John until John managed to tap his shoulder. He jumped and spun around, shooting them a sheepish smile.

“Sorry. Ian’s just been out of sorts the last few days and it’s starting to get to me. I think he’s worried about the messages and thefts like the rest of us, but he seemed to take the mess yesterday particularly hard.” He finally focused on their clothes and his eyes grew enormous. For a long moment, he simply gaped at them, before swallowing and shaking his head. “I’ll never be able to find a pair as good as you two again, you realise that? Not even my regular performers put this much effort into their performances.”

“I’m dedicated to the work,” Sherlock replied and John couldn’t hide his snort of laughter. Niall glanced between them and noticed John’s pin, stepping closer to inspect it.

“That’s strange…that pin looks awfully familiar. Where did you find it? I don’t remember putting it in with our accessories – “

Before John could come up with a reply, Sherlock interrupted. “Old family heirloom. Thought it would go well with the theme so I brought it along. It must remind you of some of the other pieces; it’s very similar in design.” Niall frowned, but nodded and left to go help the audience prepare. John turned to Sherlock with a raised eyebrow once they were alone.

“You haven’t told him about the other notes and the pin,” he stated rather than asked. Sherlock stared at the closed door and shook his head.

“No. I’ve had my suspicions since the start and didn’t want Niall to contaminate them with his own opinions. You’ll understand soon enough.” John nodded and left him to his musings until their audience arrived.

Waiting for their final scene to start felt like it took days rather than the single hour it actually was. John noticed that the corset caused him to stand even straighter than his military background usually made him stand, something he was particularly grateful for since Sherlock towered over him even more than usual in his heels. Aspects of their evening of bondage carried over into the military theme as well, resulting in Sherlock staying just behind John’s right shoulder the entire time. He didn’t seem inclined to speak much, acknowledging anyone who spoke to him but refusing to engage anyone in conversation himself. John suspected he was observing the reaction on their suspect’s face at finally seeing John wear the pin, as well as Sherlock’s subtle call out with the lipstick.

Finally Niall brought their audience upstairs and they had a brief moment to themselves. John stepped up close to Sherlock and instinctively took his hands, craning his head back to look up at him.

“Ready?” John asked, rubbing his thumbs lightly over the backs of Sherlock’s hands. Sherlock squeezed his fingers in reply.

“Yes. You’ll top?”

“If that’s what you’d like.” John studied his face and frowned at the emotionless expression he saw there. “We don’t have to do this, you know. They don’t know what we decided for the evening and I doubt Niall would mind.”

“No, it’s.” He looked down at the floor, his enticing lips pursing. “It’s nothing. It’s fine. Let’s go.” He pulled John along and John followed reluctantly.

John couldn’t help but watch Sherlock’s swaying hips as he ascended the stairs and guided them to the bed. Once beside it, Sherlock turned back around until they faced each other again, keeping their hands lightly clasped. John desperately wanted to kiss him, but he’d purposefully avoided it from the start. Kissing was intimate, done between people who loved each other, and he didn’t want their first one to be for a case. Sherlock deserved as many kisses as John could bestow, but only when they both truly meant it and not just for show.

Sherlock slid out of his heels easily, bringing him back down to his usual, less towering height. Keeping his eyes fixed on John, he climbed onto the bed on his knees, bringing John with him. Once they both knelt facing each other, he leaned forward and buried his face in John’s neck, inhaling deeply. John’s mouth fell open as his eyes closed, tipping his head back to give Sherlock room to explore his neck. As Sherlock traced his painted lips down the small space above John’s jacket, John released his hands to grasp Sherlock’s hips and pulled him close. He ran his hands up the soft fabric of his corset, taking in how tight it was and the feminine shape it gave Sherlock’s long torso. Sherlock, meanwhile, guided John’s face to the side to run his lips up his jaw to his ear. He bit the lobe lightly and John clutched the corset’s edges, already desperate to touch skin instead.

Easily finding the small clasps along the front hidden by the buckles, John quickly unfastened Sherlock’s corset and tossed it aside. Sherlock worked at John’s jacket, his lips making their way across every inch of bare skin as it was revealed. John fought to take in a full breath, the slight sting in his chest as he gasped surprisingly arousing. He reached around to grab two solid handfuls of Sherlock’s arse and squeezed, pulling him forward to slam their hips together. Sherlock pulled up from John’s shoulder with a gasp at the movement, throwing his head back to thrust his front against John.

Just as Sherlock was sneaking his hands down towards the clasps of John’s corset, a storm of footsteps raced up the stairs. The audience turned as one to see what caused the commotion and John instinctively tried to move Sherlock behind him. The room gaped up at Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade, who spotted John and Sherlock quickly. He started toward them and seemed to realise what he interrupted. His face turned beet red and he raised his eyes to avoid looking at the pair. He glanced up at the mirror on the ceiling and groaned, burying his face in his hands.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Sherlock,” he muttered through his fingers. “You couldn’t have shared that this was some sort of sex thing when you had us come?”

Sherlock regained his composure shockingly quickly, rising to his feet and snatching up his corset and heels. “Lestrade. Yes. I assume you caught him in the act?”

Lestrade peered out from his hands and rolled his eyes. “Yeah, we got him, exactly as you said.” He turned his attention to the rest of the group, regaining a bit of his composure. “Sorry to interrupt, folks, but we’ll have to bring tonight’s performance to a premature stop. If you’d all just follow me.”

John scrambled to pick up his jacket and follow Sherlock down the stairs. He bypassed the main floor to go down to the ground floor, where more of Lestrade’s crew mingled about. Niall sat in one of the chairs by the window, his shoulders slumped and his face white. John made his way over to him and sat beside him.

“What happened?” he asked gently, tentatively wrapping an arm around Niall’s shoulders. He slumped even lower, resting his elbows on his knees and burying his hands in his hair.

“It was Ian,” Niall said blankly, his voice slightly muffled. “You’d barely gone up and they barged in, went up to the private dressing room, and found him in there already. They caught him right in the middle of putting down tonight’s note.”

“Wait… _Ian?_ As in your boyfriend Ian?”

“He was jealous,” Sherlock interrupted as he strolled up to them. “Too much of Niall’s attention was on the exhibit and it was too popular. He thought you were getting off on all of this since you haven’t had the time to focus on him. He rightly assumed that threatening the performers would be bad for business.”

“He’s got one of the only other keys to the dressing room,” John realised in horror. “And he knows all the security protocols. Perfect for getting around them.”

“I can’t believe it,” Niall muttered, straightening up. “I thought he loved it as much as I did. Instead he threw an overly dramatic temper tantrum because he felt neglected.” He turned to John and pointed down at his jacket. “That pin? I didn’t recognise it from the collection. I recognised it because it’s one of his fucking family heirlooms.”

“But we found the pin days ago,” John said, forehead wrinkling in confusion. “If we’d shown Niall the handwriting and pin then, it would have been over on Wednesday.”

“Well, we’d best let the police do their jobs, as inadequate as they are,” Sherlock shot out loudly, his cheeks faintly turning pink. “Terribly sorry, Niall. I do hope you manage to continue the exhibition. It really is very well done.” With a nod, he spun and headed towards the door.

John watched him with a frown. Giving Niall a pat on the shoulder and promising to phone him tomorrow, he collected their belongings from a waiting officer and followed Sherlock outside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHA the first and only cliffhanger of the fic. Honestly I don't think I'm physically capable of writing anything with multiple chapters without at least one. Sorry but also not sorry.


	7. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, John and Sherlock talk.

Somehow Sherlock managed to hail a cab, despite the fact that he wore nothing more than glorified pants and carried his shoes. Once they were on their way back to Baker Street, John silently passed over Sherlock’s clothes. He set most of them aside and simply wiggled into his coat, buttoning it up to hide his state of undress. John used the ride to organise his thoughts, allowing Sherlock a brief moment of silence that he clearly appreciated as he leaned his head against the window and closed his eyes.

Once home, Sherlock rushed up to the flat, leaving John behind in the cab as usual. John had come to a decision during the short trip, however, and was determined to stop him before he could lock himself away in his room. He followed close on Sherlock’s heels, managing to grab his arm as he hurried into the sitting room. Sherlock made a brief attempt at escaping his coat, but soon realised it was futile. His shoulders slumped and he stared at the floor as John came around to stand in front of him.

“So. Ian,” John remarked. Sherlock refused to meet John’s eyes, but he nodded in response, so at least John was reassured he was open to a certain amount of conversation. “When did you first know?”

“I suspected from the start. I knew on Tuesday.” Sherlock swallowed and finally looked up at John. When all he saw was the open expression on John’s face, he continued. “I spoke privately to Ian when we first took the case. While he seemed just as enthusiastic to meet us as Niall, I could tell he was unusually nervous. When I researched both of them over the weekend, I discovered that Ian came from a long line of family members in the military, which didn’t seem particularly relevant at the time. Though he did a decent job of hiding it, I could tell from our conversations that he was resentful of the amount of time Niall devoted to the project and how little recognition he was receiving for his small part in it. He clearly expected it to fail at the start and grew more angry the longer it succeeded. When he left the pin and note, I recognised the handwriting from paperwork in the office and the pin from his family history. I was able to hack into the security system the next day and have a copy sent to me before Ian had the chance to alter it. To be perfectly honest, his editing skills are exceptional and truly were wasted helping Niall.”

John nodded and grinned up at him, squeezing Sherlock’s arm. “Brilliant as always. Though it still doesn’t explain why we didn’t have him arrested on Wednesday when you had proof in the video.”

Sherlock shuffled his bare feet, his eyes falling down to stare at John’s chest. “I…wanted to see what else he might do. How desperate he might get to have us do as he wanted when he thought we didn’t suspect him.”

“So of course we needed to keep going with the performances to the end of the week,” John said, trying to keep his tone reasonable but failing to fully hide his growing giddiness. “Because of the case.”

“Yes.”

Neither of them moved or spoke for a long moment. John swallowed down the last of his fear, stepping in closer to Sherlock and gripping the sides of his coat. “I can’t say I’m upset that we did. I would have been disappointed if we had to end things early, even if it was only by a few days.”

Sherlock looked up at John through his lashes without lifting his head. “Why?”

John let the fond smile he’d been holding back finally fall onto his lips. He lifted a hand to cup Sherlock’s cheek, rubbing his cheekbone with a thumb. “You couldn’t figure it out yourself?”

Swallowing thickly, Sherlock’s eyes fell closed again. “I can’t. I can’t trust myself. It’s to do with feelings and I can’t trust that I’m reading it all right.”

John’s other hand came up to cradle Sherlock’s face. “Open your eyes.” Sherlock’s face scrunched in momentary struggle before he finally forced them open again. “I enjoyed it too. Being close to you, holding you, touching you…it’s all I’ve wanted since the moment I saw you. It was the only way I could show you how much I adore you without being able to tell you. I thought you’d never want that with me, but here, in this…I could finally have the thing I thought I’d never be allowed to have.”

Sherlock let his clothes and shoes fall from his hands and clatter to the floor. He raised them as though to grab at John and flexed his fingers in uncertainty between them. John gave him a nod of encouragement and he snatched at John’s sides, his grip on John’s coat fiercely strong. “I didn’t want it to end,” Sherlock whispered. “If I couldn’t find the culprit right away, we could continue as we were, and I didn’t have to lose you. But I _knew_ the answer, and I couldn’t keep lying to you and force you to keep having sex with me – “

“Shh, darling, it’s alright,” John soothed, guiding Sherlock’s face down to him so that he could rest their foreheads together. “You didn’t force me into anything. I wanted all of it and more; still do. You haven’t lost me at all – you’ve _found_ me.”

Letting out a puff of relieved laughter, Sherlock wrapped his arms fully around John and buried his face in John’s neck. John shifted to give him the room and copied his motion, one of his hands moving to cup the back of his head. He felt Sherlock tightening his fingers into the material of his jacket as he rubbed his face against his skin, as though he wanted to get as close to him as possible. John clutched him as tightly as he could, burying his hand in Sherlock’s curls. Sherlock’s breath caught where it blew against John’s neck and John swallowed down a thick lump of emotion.

Once Sherlock composed himself slightly, he lifted his face enough for John to look up into his face. He still wore the enticing red lipstick and John fixated on it, licking his lips as his eyes darted between Sherlock’s eyes and lips. Spurred on by the vulnerable expression of need on his face, John managed to find his voice. “Can I kiss you?” he asked, barely loud enough to be heard.

In response, Sherlock surged down and crushed their lips together. John clutched at his shoulders and moved with him, coming up occasionally for ineffective gasps of air. When he started to get dizzy, John carefully guided them apart, though only far enough to breathe in each other’s air. Sherlock’s mouth was a mess, the lipstick smeared across his chin and parts of his cheek, and John suspected he was in a similar state. With an amused grin, he gripped Sherlock’s hands and walked with him backwards towards the bathroom. Sherlock followed willingly, seemingly in a daze and transfixed on John’s face.

John sat him on the closed toilet seat and turned to the sink, grabbing a cloth and wetting it slightly. Once finished, he knelt between Sherlock’s spread knees and held the cloth up in offering. “Let me? The lipstick’s lovely, but right now I’d like to taste you properly.” Sherlock simply blinked at him a moment before tentatively nodding. John cleaned first Sherlock’s face and then his own, plopping the cloth in the sink for later consideration. He pulled Sherlock back to his feet and backed himself into the sink, resting his bum on the edge as he wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s waist.

They kissed again softly, barely brushing their lips together in a counterpoint to their previous frenzy. John hummed and Sherlock shivered at the vibration, bringing his arms up around John’s neck. Before John was quite ready to finish, Sherlock pulled slightly away to stare down at him thoughtfully. John openly stared right back, waiting until he was ready to speak.

"You wouldn’t kiss me this week,” he finally muttered, his voice rumbling where their chests touched. “I could tell you wanted to but you didn’t. Why?”

John shrugged, his cheeks turning faintly pink in embarrassment. “Sentiment. I didn’t want our first kiss to be fake. If I ever got the chance to kiss you, I wanted it to be because we both wanted to, not for some show and a case.”

Sherlock broke out into a tiny grin, surprising John by leaning forward and placing a small peck on John’s nose. “I understand. I feel the same. To be perfectly honest, whenever I pictured our first kiss, it typically didn’t involve you in a corset and me in nothing but my coat and a pair of pants.”

Barking out a laugh, John gave him an appreciative onceover. “Me either, but I’m not really complaining. Although I wouldn’t mind…less, if you’re interested. Normally I’d take you out first and woo you into bed, but we’re a bit past all that at this point. Unless.” He seemed to have a sudden realisation and loosened his hold on Sherlock. “Did you tell Lestrade when he should come to the exhibit tonight?”

“Yes, of course. He needed to arrive at that precise moment to catch Ian in the act.”

“Ah. So. It was just for the case? You actually did want to…”

Sherlock blinked and turned scarlet, looking off to the side. John shifted his hands down to Sherlock’s waist and rubbed his thumbs against his skin in soothing circles, wanting to reassure him without pushing him. Eventually Sherlock cleared his throat and shrugged. “It’s not that I didn’t _want_ to, it’s more…it sounds ridiculous now, after all we’ve already done this week, but I didn’t want to do _that_ in front of everyone. I hoped that if we eventually were intimate in that particular manner, it would be here, with just the two of us.”

John let out a puff of amazed laughter and squeezed Sherlock’s hips. “My God, you’re a romantic.” When Sherlock’s face twisted in distaste, John laughed harder and placed a finger over his lips. “That’s good! It’s fine, it’s _great_. I love it, and you, and I feel the same way.”

They both realised what John said at the same moment and it was John’s turn to go red. Sherlock carefully moved to hold the hand by his mouth, pressing a light kiss to the back of it before clasping it tightly. He cradled it up against his cheek and looked at John with shining eyes. “You…did you mean to say that?”

“No,” John whispered shakily. “But I meant it anyway. Mean it. I. Yeah, I really do love you. I am completely in love with you.”

“John,” Sherlock nearly sobbed out, burying his face in John’s chest. John held him tightly and pressed kisses against whatever parts of him that were closest, mostly his hair and the side of his head. Cradling his face gently to pull it up to eye level, John let his final barrier drop.

“Come to bed with me? Let me show you what I really wanted our first time to be like, just you and me.” At Sherlock’s nod, John shifted his feet down to the floor and led them both into Sherlock’s room.

Once they were behind the closed door, John released Sherlock’s hand to pull off his coat. John guided Sherlock’s shaking fingers to the buckle on his corset, helping him undo it and toss it behind them. John took a grateful deep breath and guided Sherlock backward to sit on the bed. When he fell with a dull thump onto the edge, John knelt down onto one knee to work on taking off his boots. He heard Sherlock suck in a breath and shot him a sly grin.

“Not quite yet, baby, but eventually,” he said, hoping Sherlock understood his full meaning. From the soft smile that settled on his face, John knew he did. He took the boots off quickly and threw them over his shoulder, climbing up to push Sherlock properly up onto the bed. Crawling over his body until they were face to face, John carefully guided himself down so that their covered groins connected. Sherlock let out a groan and pushed up into the touch, his back arching delightfully.

Pleased with the reaction, John balanced himself on one elbow and snuck the other arm down to wiggle out of his pants. Finally nude, he shimmied back to rest on Sherlock’s thighs as he pushed himself up to a sitting position. He waited for Sherlock to look up at him, his eyes already completely dilated, and lightly snapped the top band of Sherlock’s pants. Sherlock nearly shook the bed with how eagerly he nodded, resting back on his shoulders to thrust his waist into the air.

John carefully peeled the pants off, making sure to avoid catching Sherlock’s mostly hard cock in the process. It bounced against his stomach as he flopped back down on the bed, a thin line of pre-come connecting the tip with his stomach. Throwing away the pants, John couldn’t resist leaning in to lick a line up it, starting with the slit and following it up his quivering skin. He continued his progress until he reached Sherlock’s right nipple, taking it into his mouth instantly. He ran the flat of his tongue across it and sucked, looking up without moving as Sherlock whimpered. Sherlock had his bottom lip tightly held between his teeth, trying to contain his noises. John released his nipple with a pop and rested his chin on the centre of Sherlock’s chest.

“Don’t keep quiet,” he said, kissing his shivering skin when Sherlock looked down at him. “I could tell you’ve been trying to stop your noises all this week. We’re alone now; let me hear you properly.”

Sherlock nodded and John went back to his nipple, biting down lightly on it to see Sherlock’s reaction. He let out a yelp that turned into a long moan and his hands came up to bury in John’s hair. John continued working on his nipple, humming in contentment when Sherlock massaged his scalp with his long fingers. He eventually moved on to the left one, giving it the same treatment. When he finally pushed himself back up to a sitting position, a pleasing flush had spread across Sherlock’s entire chest and he panted heavily, his eyes half closed in pleasure.

“I assume you’ve got lube, given some of the things I’ve seen over the last few days,” John remarked, snapping Sherlock back to full focus. He waved his hand toward the side table and John leaned over him to open it. His hand hovered over the opened drawer as John blinked between it and Sherlock. “You really are exactly what I’ve always wanted, aren’t you?” At Sherlock’s questioning noise, John waved at the drawer filled with various dildos and Sherlock understood instantly, blushing across his cheekbones.

“I, ah, use them to help me get to sleep sometimes,” Sherlock hurried to explain. “They help me fall asleep when I can’t stop thinking, and since my brain gets bored easily, I have to use a variety – “

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me, love,” John interrupted. “It’s amazing, and so are you. And we are definitely exploring all of that at some point.” While Sherlock shyly smiled, John tried to ignore the various toys inside and picked out a lube. He shut the drawer with a snap and repositioned himself straddling Sherlock’s thighs.

Sherlock stared up at him as he opened the tube and squirted some of it into his hand. John noticed he was being watched and grinned down at Sherlock as he tossed the lube to the side and spread it across his palms. His smile softened at the openly adoring expression on Sherlock’s face and he couldn’t help but lean down and take a sip of a kiss.

“This is the first time we’ve seen all of each other,” Sherlock remarked quietly. John paused just above his lips and blinked as he realised Sherlock was right. He had to steal the shocked amazement from Sherlock’s lips, deepening the kiss gradually until his hands were coming up to grasp desperately at John’s waist. When John finally pulled away, Sherlock gasped out a breath and fell back against the bed with a dazed smile.

"Not disappointed by what you see?” John asked, trying to mask his spike of insecurity in a teasing tone. Sherlock’s eyes blinked open and he shook his head in shock.

“Never. John. You’re beautiful.”

John buried his blush in Sherlock’s neck, peppering kisses where he could reach. Once he felt composed, he shuffled back down Sherlock’s body, nudging his legs apart so that he could settle between them. He felt Sherlock’s thighs quivering in anticipation and gently massaged the inside of one of them, heedless of the fact that he was covering Sherlock in lube. Sherlock pushed up into the movement and John left that hand where it was as he trailed the other up to the tempting shadow of Sherlock’s hole.

Running the pad of his thumb around the rim, John gave Sherlock a subtle warning of where he intended to move next. Welcoming the intrusion, Sherlock spread his legs further, his hands clutching onto the bedding below him. John carefully worked his first finger inside him and his head shot up at Sherlock’s gasp, worried he’d hurt him. Sherlock almost immediately began to push down against John’s finger, however, and John continued moving forward, wiggling inside until he reached the base of his finger. He rubbed at Sherlock’s walls, delighting in the continuous stream of moans and mutters coming from Sherlock. He pulled out just long enough to add a second finger and sought out his prostate. Finding it easily from practice, he smirked as Sherlock’s thighs tightened around him and his hips shot up in surprised arousal.

“God, John, _please_ ,” Sherlock whined, his teeth clenched and his heels digging into the bed for traction. John reassured him with soft hushes and trails of kisses along Sherlock’s thigh as he added a third finger. He avoided Sherlock’s prostate for now, wanting to keep him fully in the moment without bringing him too close to the edge. He worked diligently to prepare Sherlock and once he was satisfied, he freed his fingers and sat up to grab the lube again. At Sherlock’s noise of distress, John leaned down to smear their lips together in reassurance.

John’s cock practically dripped lube across the bed sheets, he was so eager to coat himself. He held the base of it in one hand as he brought the other up to cradle Sherlock’s cheek. Sherlock’s eyes flew open in a daze and he focused on John staring down at him with open devotion.

“Are you ready, love?” John whispered, teasing the tip of his cock at Sherlock’s entrance. Sherlock nearly dislodged the hand on his cheek as he nodded encouragement. John pushed forward in a single slow slide, pausing only once he bottomed out. The two of them panted into each other’s mouths, Sherlock’s clutching hands coming up to wrap around John’s neck. John forced his eyes open to take in Sherlock’s open mouthed expression of bliss. Without consciously making the choice, he brought his thumb down to trace along his top lip and Sherlock instantly pulled it into his mouth and sucked. John groaned deep in his chest and pulled out to the tip before shoving himself back in, forcing Sherlock to release his thumb to let out a yelp.

“God, you feel… _God_ ,” John gasped as he set a steady but slow pace, almost pulling all the way out with every movement. Sherlock devolved into whining pants, his hands constantly moving across whatever parts of John’s skin he could find. When one of his enormous palms found one of John’s arsecheeks and squeezed, John let out a long moan that he didn’t think would ever end and pushed himself up to his knees without dislodging himself from Sherlock. He pulled Sherlock up into his lap, his own leverage and Sherlock’s bracing shoulders on the bed helping to push him in even deeper. Sherlock threw his head back and braced his hands against the headboard to stop from knocking against it.

John felt his orgasm creeping up on him and brought his hand up to wrap it firmly around Sherlock’s cock. As he dragged his hand up it and rubbed his thumb roughly over the head, Sherlock encouraged him with an almost constant litany of John’s name. It morphed into a wordless shout as John obviously found Sherlock’s prostate again and he swiveled his hips to get as much sensation out of him as possible. Before he even had the chance to warn John, Sherlock clenched down impossibly tighter on his cock and came, his mouth open in a soundless scream. Sherlock just started to twitch with sensitivity as John came as well, his knees giving out on him and making him slump down against Sherlock’s chest. He shivered through the aftershocks, Sherlock running a gentle hand through his hair keeping him centred on the moment. He finished with a sigh and snuffled against Sherlock’s chest, shimmying his arms under him to wrap around him and keep him in place.

For a long moment, they lay tangled together trying to catch their breaths, sweat drying on their skin and thoughts buzzing from sensation. John’s cock slid free of its own accord and Sherlock groaned quietly at the loss. Rubbing his messy stomach, John kissed whatever bit of Sherlock he could reach before carefully rolling off him. He only moved enough to bring their faces up to the same level, and they both moved to their sides to face each other.

“Well,” John finally said, his voice low and hoarse. He cleared it and grinned, snuggling up closer to Sherlock. “Bit different from the last few days. I think I prefer your bed and having it just be you and me.”

“I agree,” Sherlock grumbled, and his voice made John shiver. He bit his bottom lip and looked down at John’s chest, and John felt himself falling impossibly more in love with him. “Do you think…we might be able to continue our arrangement beyond this week?”

John attempted to fix a thoughtful expression on his face, but couldn’t help the smile from breaking out on his face. “I dunno. How do you feel about dates, casual affections, declarations of love, and happily ever after?”

Sherlock’s eyes darted back up to John’s and he broke out in a grin to match John’s. “I suppose I’m amendable.”

“Good.” John pulled him against his chest and wrapped his arms and legs around him. “And I wouldn’t mind exploring some of those things you’ve got hidden around in here. You are a constant, amazing surprise, Sherlock Holmes.” Laughing lightly, Sherlock buried himself against John’s chest and they both fell into a contented sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An hour later: ew okay this is gross we gotta shower
> 
> And here we are at the end! Thanks to everyone who joined me on this little journey. And an extra special shout out to Ashlee, the best and funniest beta ever. See you next fic!
> 
> Twitter: ShannCanWrite  
> Tumblr: futureofthemasses


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